I 


REESE  LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Class 


/ 


\ 


THE 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY, 


FROM  ITS  ORIGIN  IN  GREECE  DOWN  TO 
THE  PRESENT  DAY. 

BY 

GEORGE  HENRY  LEWES. 


"  Man  is  not  born  to  solve  the  mystery  of  Existence  ;  but  be  must  nevertheless  attempt  it, 
in  order  that  he  may  learn  how  to  keep  within  the  limits  of  the  Knowable."— GOETHE. 

"  For  I  doubt  not  through  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose  runs, 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  by  the  process  of  the  suns." 


LIBRARY  EDITION, 

MUCH  EXLAEGED  AND  THOEOUGHLY  REVISED. 


XEW  YORK: 
D.  APPLETOK    AND    COMPANY, 

346    &    348    BROADWAY. 
M  DCCC  LVII. 


L-4 


PREFACE. 


THIS  new  edition  may  almost  be  considered  as  a  new 
work,  so  many  are  the  additions  and  so  extensive  the 
alterations.  Seven  new  names  have  been  added  to  the 
list  of  philosophers, — ABELAED,  ALGAZZALI,  GIORDANO 
BRUNO,  HARTLEY,  DARWIN,  CABANIS,  and  GALL.  An 
Introduction,  setting  forth  the  distinguishing  character 
istics  of  Philosophy  and  Science,  replaces  the  original 
Introduction.  Under  the  heads  of  SOCRATES,  the  SOPH 
ISTS,  ARISTOTLE,  BACON,  SPINOZA,  HUME,  CONDILLAC, 
KANT,  and  ECLECTICISM,  considerable  additions  and  alter 
ations  will  be  found ;  and,  throughout,  the  revision  has 
been  such  that  scarcely  a  paragraph  remains  unaltered. 

The  work  was  written  ten  years  ago,  and  was  ad 
dressed  to  a  popular  audience.  Ten  years  have  not 
been  without  their  influence  on  the  historian ;  and 
moreover,  the  success  of  the  work  has  so  greatly  ex 
ceeded  any  thing  that  could  reasonably  have  been  anti 
cipated — not  only  -in  respect  to  sale,  but  in  the  directions 
of  its  influence — that  on  undertaking  this  Library  Edi 
tion  I  felt  the  necessity  of  modifying  both  the  aim  and 
scope  of  the  work.  A  graver  audience  was  to  be  ad 
dressed,  a  graver  tone  adopted.  "Without  forgetting  the 
general  public,  I  had  now  to  think  also  of  what  students 
would  require.  Many  polemical  passages,  many  ex- 


IV  PREFACE. 

tracts,  and  some  digressions,  have  been  removed ;  and 
the  space  thus  gained  has  prevented  the  new  matter 
from  swelling  the  work  to  an  inconvenient  size.  Many 
references  and  other  bibliographical  details  have  been 
added,  although  the  principle  of  abstinence  from  unne 
cessary  citation  has  still  been  preserved. 

The  labor  bestowed  on  this  Edition  will,  I  hope,  ren 
der  it  more  worthy  of  public  acceptance.  To  my  friend, 
the  Kev.  "W.  G.  Clark,  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
an  acknowledgment  is  due  for  the  kindness  with  which 
he  permitted  me  to  profit  by  his  accomplished  scholar 
ship  and  taste,  in  the  revision  of  the  proofs ;  but  while 
thanking  him  publicly  for  his  many  suggestions  and 
corrections,  I  must  exonerate  him  from  every  iota  of 
responsibility  either  as  to  the  opinions  or  the  statements 
in  this  volume. 

The  Introduction  explains  the  purpose  of  this  History 
and  the  principles  of  its  composition ;  let  me  therefore 
only  add  here  that,  although  availing  myself  of  the  la 
bors  of  other  historians  and  critics,  I  have  not  restricted 
myself  to  them.  The  works  of  the  various  philosophers, 
with  rare  exceptions,  have  been  studied  at  first  hand, 
and  have  furnished  the  extracts  and  abstracts ;  that  is 
to  say,  I  have  either  collected  the  passages  myself,  or 
have  verified  them  by  reference  to  the  originals,  in  al 
most  all  cases.  While,  therefore,  this  History  makes  no 
pretension  to  a  place  beside  the  many  erudite  and  com 
prehensive  Histories  previously  published,  it  claims  to 
be  regarded  as  something  very  different  from  a  mere 
compilation.  The  novelty  of  its  conception  made  direct 
acquaintance  with  the  originals  indispensable.  Having 
to  exhibit  the  Biography  of  Philosophy  in  its  rise, 
growth,  and  development,  I  could  not  always  have 


PREFACE.  V 

drawn  my  material  from  writers  who  had  no  such  aim ; 
many  of  the  passages  most  significant  for  my  purpose 
being  totally  disregarded  by  my  predecessors. 

In  another  respect  also  I  have  innovated,  namely,  in 
the  constant  interweaving  of  criticism  with  exposition. 
This  was  necessary  to  my  purpose  of  proving  that  no 
metaphysical  system  has  had  in  it  a  principle  of  vitality ; 
none  has  succeeded  in  establishing  itself,  because  none 
deserved  to  succeed.  In  this  way  I  have  been  led  to 
express  every  conclusion  to  which  the  study  of  meta 
physical  problems  has  led  me ;  in  some  places — espe 
cially  in  the  refutation  of  Sensationalism,  and  in  the 
physiological  discussion  of  psychological  questions — 
I  have  been  forced  to  content  myself  with  a  brief  and 
imperfect  exposition  of  my  own  views ;  and  the  reader 
is  requested  to  regard  them  rather  in  their  bearing  as 
criticisms,  than  as  expressing  what  I  have  to  say  011 
such  difficult  topics. 

The  following  list  comprises  some  of  the  many  general 
Histories  which  the  student  will  find  useful,  should  he 
desire  ampler  detail  than  wras  consistent  with  the  size 
and  plan  of  this  volume  : 

In  English. — Hitter,  History  of  Philosophy ',  3  vols. ; 
Tennemann,  Manual  of  the  History  of  Philosophy, 
1  vol. ;  Victor  Cousin,  Introduction  to  the  History 
of  Philosophy r,  1  vol. ;  Morell,  History  of  Specula 
tive  Philosophy  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,  2  vols. 
(2d  edition,  much  improved). 

In  French. — Degerando,  Ilistoire  Comparee  des  Sys- 
temes  de  Philosophic,  4  vols.  (2d  edition);  Renou- 
vier,  Manuel  de  la  Philosophic  Ancienne,  2  vols., 
and  Manuel  de  la  Philosophic  Moderne,  1  vol. ; 
Damiron,  Ilistoire  de  la  Philosophic  en  France  au 


VI  PKEFACE. 

XIX  Siecle,  1  vol. ;   Galuppi,  Lettres  Pldlosoplii- 
ques,  1  vol. 

In  German. — Hitter,  Geschichte  der  Philosophie^  9  vols. ; 
Tennemann,  Geschichte  der  Philosophic ?,  11  vols. ; 
Hegel,  Geschichte  der  Philosophic,  3  vols. ;  Zeller, 
Die  Philosophic  der  Griechen,  2  vols. ;  Brandis, 
Geschichte  der  Griechisch-Romischen  Philosophic, 
2  vols. 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I.— ANCIENT  PHILOSOPHY. 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION xi 

FIRST  EPOCH. 

Speculations  on  the  Nature  of  the  Universe. 

CHAPTER  I.  THE  PHYSICISTS.— Thales.— Anaximenes.— Diogenes  of 
Apollonia 1 

CHAPTER  II.  THE  MATHEMATICIANS. — Anaximander  of  Miletus. — Py 
thagoras. — Philosophy  of  Pythagoras. — Translations  from  Aristotle's 
Metaphysics , 10 

CHAPTER  III.  THE  ELEATICS.—  Xenophanes.  —  The  Philosophy  of 
Xcnophanes. — Parmenides. — Zeno  of  Elea/ 37 

SECOND  EPOCH. 

Speculations  on  the  Creation  of  the  Universe,  and  on  the  Origin  of 
Knowledge. 

Heraclitus. — Anaxagoras. — Empedocles. — Democritus 63 

THIRD  EPOCH. 

Intellectual  Crisis. — The  Insufficiency  of  all  Attempts  towards  a  Solution 
V/  of  the  Problem  of  Existence,  as  well  as  that  of  Knowledge,  produces  the 
''  Sophists. 

THE  SOPHISTS. — What  were  they  ? — Protagoras 102 

FOURTH  EPOCH. 

A  New  Era  opened  by  the  Invention  of  a  New  Method. 
SOCRATES.— The  Life  of  Socrates.— Philosophy  of  Socrates 122 

FIFTH  EPOCH. 

Partial  Adoption  of  the  Socratic  Method. 

The  Megaric  School.— Euclid.— The  Cyrenaic  School.— Aristippus.— The 
Cynics.— Antisthenes  and  Diogenes  ....  169 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

SIXTH  EPOCH. 

Complete  Adoption  and  Application  of  the  Socratic  Method. 

PLATO. — Life  of  Plato. — Plato's  Writings  :  their  Character,  Object,  and 
Authenticity. — Plato's  Method. — Plato's  Ideal  Theory. — Plato's  Psy 
chology. — Summary  of  Plato's  Dialectics. — Plato's  Theology  and 
Cosmology. — Plato's  View  of  the  Beautiful  and  the  Good. — Plato's 
Ethics 186 

SEVENTH  EPOCH. 

Philosophy  again  reduced  to  a  System :  Close  of  the  Socratic  Movement. — 
Aristotle. 

CHAPTER  I.  ARISTOTLE.— -Life  of  Aristotle.— Aristotle's  Method.— 
Aristotle's  Logic. — Aristotle's  Metaphysics 241 

CHAPTER  II.     SUMMARY  OF  THE  SOCRATIC  MOVEMENT 266 

EIGHTH  EPOCH. 

Second  Crisis  of  Greek  Philosophy :  the  Skeptics,  Epicureans,  Stoics, 
and  the  New  Academy. 

CHAPTER    I.      THE  SKEPTICS.— Pyrrho 268 

CHAPTER    II.     THE  EPICUREANS.— Epicurus   274 

CHAPTER  III.    THE  STOICS.— Zeno 281 

CHAPTER  IV.    THE  NEW  ACADEMY.— Arcesilaus  and  Carneadcs 293 

CHAPTER    V.     SUMMARY  OF  THE  EIGHTH  EPOCH 305 

NINTH  EPOCH. 

Philosophy  allies  itself  with  Faith :  the  Alexandrian  Schools. 
CHAPTER  I.    PVISE  OF  NEO-PLATONISM.— Alexandria.— Philo 807 


CHAPTER  II.  ANTAGONISM  OF  CHRISTIANITY  AND  NEO-PLATONISM. — Plo- 
tinus. — The  Alexandrian  Dialectics.  —  The  Alexandrian  Trinity. — 
The  Doctrine  of  Emanation 314 

CHAPTER  III.  PROCLUS 332 

CONCLUSION  OF  ANCIENT  PHILOSOPHY 336 


PART  II.— MODERN  PHILOSOPHY. 

TRANSITION  PERIOD. 

FROM  PROCLUS  TO  BACON. — Scholasticism. — Life  of  Abclard. — Philosophy 
of  Abelard. — Algazzali. — Revival  of  Learning. — Giordano  Bruno 343 


IX 


FIKST  EPOCH. 

Foundation  of  the  Inductive  Method. 

The  Life  of  Bacon.— Bacon's  Method.— The  Spirit  of  Bacon's  Method.— 
Was  the  Method  New  and  Useful  ? 893 

SECOND  EPOCH. 

Foundation  of  the  Deductive  Method. 

CHAPTER  I.  DESCARTES.— Life  of  Descartes.— The  Method  of  Des 
cartes.— Application  of  the  Method.— Is  the  Method  True  ? 435 

CHAPTER  II.     SPINOZA. — Spinoza's  Life. — Spinoza's  Doctrine 456 

CHAPTER  III.  FIRST  CRISIS  IN  MODERN  PHILOSOPHY 403 

THIRD  EPOCH. 

Philosophy  reduced  to  a  Question  of  Psychology. 
CHAPTER  I.    HOBBES 495 

CHAPTER  II.  LOCKE.— Life  of  Locke.— On  the  Spirit  of  Locke's  Wri 
tings. — Locke's  Method. — The  Origin  of  our  Ideas. — Elements  of 
Idealism  and  Skepticism  in  Locke. — Locke's  Critics 506 

CHAPTER  III.     LEIBNITZ 541 

CHAPTER   IV.     SUMMARY  OF  THE  THIRD  EPOCH 546 

FOURTH  EPOCH. 

The  Subjective  Nature  of  Knmvledge  leads  to  Idealism. 

BERKELEY. — The  Life  of  Berkeley. — Berkeley  and  Common  Sense. — 
Idealism 548 

FIFTH  EPOCH. 

The  Arguments  of  Idealism  carried  out  into  Skepticism. 

HUME. — Life  of  Hume. — Hume's  Skepticism. — Hume's  Theory  of  Causa 
tion  570 

SIXTH  EPOCH. 

The  Origin  of  Knowledge  reduced  to  Sensation  ly  the  confusion  of 
Thought  with  Feeling :  the  /Sensational  School. 

CHAPTER    I.     CONDILLAC.— Life  of  Condillac.— Condillac's  System  ...   5S9 

CHAPTER  II.    HARTLEY.— Life  of  Hartley.— Hartley's  System 603 

CHAPTER  III.  DARWIN 609 

SEVENTH  EPOCH. 

Second  Crisis :  Idealism,  Skepticism,  and  Sensationalism  producing 
the  Reaction  of  Common  Sense. 

REID 618 

1* 


X  CONTENTS. 

EIGHTH  EPOCH. 

Recurrence  to  the  Fundamental  Question  respecting  the  Origin  of 
Knowledge. 

KANT. — Life  of  Kant. — Kant's  Historical  Position. — Kant's  Psychology. — 
Consequences  of  Kant's  Psychology. — Examination  of  Kant's  Fun 
damental  Principles 680 

NINTH  EPOCH. 

Ontology  reasserts  its  Claim. — The  Demonstration  of  the  Subjectivity 
of  Knowledge  once  more  leads  to  Idealism. 

CHAPTER  I.  FICHTE.— Life  of  Fichte.— Fichte's  Historical  Position.— 
Basis  of  Fichte's  System. — Fichte's  Idealism. — Application  of  Fichte's 
Idealism 675 

CHAPTER  II.    SCHELLING.— Life  of  Schelling.— Schelling's Doctrines..  705 

CHAPTER  III.  HEGEL.— Life  of  Hegel.— Hegel's  Method.— Absolute 
Idealism. — Hegel's  Logic. — Application  of  the  Method  to  Nature  and 
History,  Religion  and  Philosophy 715 

TENTH  EPOCH. 

Psychology  seeking  its  Basis  in  Physiology. 
CHAPTER  I.     CABANIS 740 

CHAPTER  II.  PHRENOLOGY.— Life  of  Gall.— Gall's  Historical  Position. 
— Cranioscopy. — Phrenology  as  a  Science 749 

ELEVENTH  EPOCH. 
Philosophy  finally  relinquishing  its  Place  in  favor  of  Positive  Science. 

CHAPTER  I.    ECLECTICISM 769 

CHAPTER  II.   AUGUSTS  COMTE 776 

CONCLUSION 788 

INDEX  ..  ..  791 


INTRODUCTION. 


§  I.  ON  THE  DISTINCTION  BETWEEN  PHILOSOPHY  AND  SCIENCE. 

PHILOSOPHY  is  everywhere  in  Europe  fallen  into  discredit. 
Once  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  greatest  intellects,  and  still 
forming  an  important  element  of  liberal  culture,  its  present  de 
cadence  is  attested  no  less  by  the  complaints  of  its  few  followers 
than  by  the  thronging  ranks  of  its  opponents.  Few  now  believe 
in  its  large  promises ;  still  fewer  devote  to  it  that  passionate  pa 
tience  which  is  devoted  by  thousands  to  Science.  Every  day 
the  conviction  gains  strength  that  Philosophy  is  condemned,  by 
the  very  nature  of  its  impulses,  to  wander  forever  in  one  tortu 
ous  labyrinth  within  whose  circumscribed  and  winding  spaces 
weary  seekers  are  continually  finding  themselves  in  the  trodden 
tracks  of  predecessors,  who,  they  know,  could  find  no  exit. 

Philosophy  has  been  ever  in  movement,  but  the  movement 
has  been  circular ;  and  this  fact  is  thrown  into  stronger  relief  by 
contrast  with  the  linear  progress  of  Science.  Instead  of  perpet 
ually  finding  itself,  after  years  of  gigantic  endeavor,  returned  to 
the  precise  point  from  which  it  started,  Science  finds  itself  year 
by  year,  and  almost  day  by  day,  advancing  step  by  step,  each 
accumulation  of  power  adding  to  the  momentum  of  its  progress ; 
each  evolution,  like  the  evolutions  of  organic  development,  bring 
ing  with  it  a  new  functional  superiority,  which  in  its  turn  be 
comes  the  agent  of  higher  developments.  Not  a  fact  is  discov 
ered  but  has  its  bearing  on  the  whole  body  of  doctrine  ;  not  a 
mechanical  improvement  in  the  construction  of  instruments  but 
opens  fresh  sources  of  discovery.  Onward,  and  forever  onward, 
mightier  and  forever  mightier,  rolls  this  wondrous  tide  of  discov 
ery,  and  the  "  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  by  the  process  of 
the  suns."  While  the  first  principles  of  Philosophy  are  to  this 
day  as  much  a  matter  of  dispute  as  they  were  two  thousand 
years  ago,  the  first  principles  of  Science  are  securely  established, 


Xll  INTEODUCTION. 

and  form  the  guiding  lights  of  European  progress.  Precisely 
the  same  questions  are  agitated  in  Germany  at  the  present  mo 
ment  that  were  agitated  in  ancient  Greece  ;  and  with  no  more 
certain  Methods  of  solving  them,  with  no  nearer  hopes  of  ulti 
mate  success.  The  History  of  Philosophy  presents  the  specta 
cle  of  thousands  of  intellects — some  the  greatest  that  have  made 
our  race  illustrious — steadily  concentrated  on  problems  believed 
to  be  of  vital  importance,  yet  producing  no  other  result  than  a 
conviction  of  the  extreme  facility  of  error,  and  the  remoteness  of 
any  probability  that  Truth  can  be  reached.*  The  only  conquest 
has  been  critical,  that  is  to  say,  psychological.  Vainly  do  some 
argue  that  Philosophy  has  made  no  progress  hitherto,  because 
its  problems  are  so  complex,  and  require  more  effort  than  the 
simpler  problems  of  Science  ;  vainly  are  we  warned  not  to  con 
clude  from  the  past  to  the  future,  averring  that  no  progress  will 
be  made  because  no  progress  has  been  made.  Perilous  as  it 
must  ever  be  to  set  absolute  limits  to  the  future  of  human  ca 
pacity,  there  can  be  no  peril  in  averring  that  Philosophy  never 
will  achieve  its  aims,  because  those  aims  lie  beyond  all  human 
scope.  The  difficulty  is  impossibility.  ISTo  progress  can  be 
made  because  no  certainty  is  possible.  To  aspire  to  the  knowl 
edge  of  more  than  phenomena, — their  resemblances,  co-exist 
ences,  and  successions, — is  to  aspire  to  transcend  the  inexorable 
limits  of  human  faculty.  To  know  more,  we  must  be  more. 

The  reader  will  have  perceived  that  I  use  the  word  Philosophy 
in  some  restricted  sense ;  and  as  this  is  the  sense  which  will  be 
attached  to  it  throughout  the  present  History,  an  explanation 
becomes  requisite.  In  all  countries  the  word  Philosophy  has 
come  to  be  used  with  large  latitude,  designating  indeed  any  and 
every  kind  of  speculative  inquiry ;  nay,  in  England,  as  Hegel 
notices  with  scorn,f  microscopes,  telescopes,  barometers,  and 
balances,  are  freely  baptized  "  philosophical  instruments ;" — New- 

*  Compare  Kant  in  the  Preface  to  the  2cled.  of  the  Kritik  derreinen  Ver- 
nunft:  "Der  Metaphysik  .  .  .  ist  das  Schicksal  bisher  noch  so  giinstig 
nicht  gewesen  dass  sie  den  sichern  Gang  einer  \Visscnschaft  einzuschlagen 
vermogt  hatte ;  oh  sie  glcich  alter  1st  als  alle  iibrige.  .  .  .  E»  ist  also  kein 
Zweifel  dass  ihr  Verfahren  bisher  ein  blosses  Herumtappen,  und,  was  das 
Schlimmste  ist,  unter  blossen  Begriffen  gewesen  scy." 

t   Gencldchte  der  Phllosopliie,  \.  7 '2. 


INTRODUCTION.  Xlll 

ton  is  called  a  philosopher  ;  and  even  Parliamentary  proceedings 
get  named  philosophical ; — so  wide  a  range  is  given  to  this 
word.  Such  expressions  may  be  criticised,  but  no  criticism  will 
root  them  out  of  our  language  ;  and  it  is  futile  to  argue  against 
whatever  has  become  thus  familiar  and  extensive.  Neverthe 
less,  when  any  one  undertakes  to  write  a  History  of  Philosophy, 
he  must  define  the  limits  of  his  undertaking  ;  and  as  I  have  not 
the  slightest  intention  of  including  either  microscopic  inquiries, 
or  Parliamentary  debates,  within  my  narrative,  but  of  rigorously 
limiting  it  to  such  topics  as  are  comprised  in  other  Histories  of 
Philosophy,  it  is  indispensable  to  define  the  word  "  Philosophy," 
by  limiting  it  exclusively  to  Metaphysics,  in  direct  antithesis  to 
Science.  This  is  the  sense  it  bears  in  all  other  Histories ;  except 
that  the  demarcation  from  Science  is  not  always  rigorously  made. 

In  the  early  days  of  speculation  all  Philosophy  was  essentially 
metaphysical,  because  Science  had  not  distinctly  emerged.  The 
particular  sciences  then  cultivated,  no  less  than  the  higher  gene 
ralities  on  Life,  Destiny,  and  the  Universe,  were  studied  on  one 
and  the  same  Method  ;  but  in  the  course  of  human  evolution  a 
second  Method  grew  up,  at  first  timidly  and  unconsciously,  grad 
ually  enlarging  its  bounds  as  it  enlarged  its  powers,  and  at  last 
separating  itself  into  open  antagonism  with  its  parent  and  rival. 
The  child  then  destroyed  its  parent ;  as  the  mythic  Zeus,  calling 
the  Titans  to  his  aid,  destroyed  Saturn  and  usurped  his  throne. 
Observation  and  Experiment  were  the  Titans  of  the  new  Method. 

There  are  many  who  deplore  the  encroachment  of  Science, 
fondly  imagining  that  Philosophy  would  respond  better  to  the 
wants  of  man.  This  regret  is  partly  unreasoning  sentiment, 
partly  ignorance  of  the  limitations  of  human  faculty.  Even 
among  those  who  admit  that  Philosophy  is  an  impossible  at 
tempt,  there  are  many  who  think  it  should  be  persevered  in,  be 
cause  of  the  lofty  views  it  is  supposed  to  open  to  us.  This  is  as 
if  a  man  desirous  of  going  to  America  should  insist  on  walking 
there,  because  journeys  on  foot  are  more  poetical  than  journeys 
by  rail  and  steam  ;  in  vain  is  he  shown  the  impossibility  of 
crossing  the  Atlantic  on  foot ;  he  admits  that  grovelling  fact, 
but  his  lofty  soul  has  visions  of  some  mysterious  overland  route 
by  which  he  will  pass.  He  dies  without  reaching  America,  but 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

to  the  hist  gasp  he  maintains  that  ho  has  discovered  the  route 
on  which  others  may  reach  it, 

0  Header !  let  us  hear  no  more  of  the  lofty  views  claimed  as 
the  exclusive  privilege  of  Philosophy.  Ignorant  indeed  must  the 
man  be  who  nowadays  is  unacquainted  with  the  grandeur  and 
sweep  of  scientific  speculation  in  Astronomy  and  Geology,  or 
who  has  never  been  thrilled  by  the  revelations  of  the  Telescope 
and  Microscope.  The  heights  and  depths  of  man's  nature,  the 
heights  to  which  he  aspires,  the  depths  into  which  he  searches, 
and  the  grander  generalities  on  Life,  Destiny,  and  the  Universe, 
find  as  eminent  i\  place  in  Science  as  in  Philosophy,  with  the 
simple  difference  that  they  are  less  vague  and  are  better  founded. 
And  even  were  we  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  the  lofty 
views  of  Philosophy  were  excluded  from  Science,  the  earnest 
mind  would  surely  barter  such  loftiness  for  Truth.  Our  strug 
gle,  our  passion,  our  hope,  is  for  Truth,  not  for  loftiness  ;  for  sin 
cerity,  not  for  pretence.  If  we  cannot  reach  certain  heights,  let 
us  acknowledge  them  to  be  inaccessible,  and  not  deceive  our 
selves  and  others  by  phrases  which  pretend  that  these  heights 
are  accessible.  Bentham  warns  us  against  **  question-begging 
epithets ;"  and  one  of  these  is  the  epithet  "  lofty,"  with  which 
Philosophy  allures  the  unwary  student.  As  a  specimen  of  the 
sentiment  so  inappropriately  dragged  in  to  decide  questions  not 
of  sentiment  but  of  truth,  consider  the  following  passage  deliver 
ed  from  the  professorial  chair  to  students  whose  opinions  were  to 
be  formed : 

u  A  spirit  of  most  misjudging  contempt  has  for  many  years 
become  fashionable  towards  the  metaphysical  contemplations  of 
the  elder  sages.  Alas!  I  cannot  understand  on  what  principles. 
Is  it,  then,  a  matter  to  be  exulted  in  that  we  have  at  length  dis 
covered  that  our  faculties  are  only  formed  for  earth  and  earthly 
phenomena?  Are  we  to  rejoice  at  our  own  limitations,  and 
delight  that  we  can  be  cogently  demonstrated  to  be  prisoners  ot 
sense  and  the  facts  of  sense  ?  In  those  early  struggles  after  a 
higher  and  more  perfect  knowledge,  and  in  the  forgetfulness  of 
every  inferior  science  through  the  very  ardor  of  the  pursuit, 
there  is  at  least  a  glorious,  an  irresistible  testimony  to  the  loftier 
destinies  of  man ;  and  it  might  almost  be  pronounced  that  in 


INTRODUCTION.  XV 

such  a  view,  their  very  errors  evidence  a  truth  higher  than  all 
our  discoveries  can  disclose !  When  Lord  Bacon,  with  his  clear 
and  powerful  reasonings,  led  our  thinkers  from  these  ancient 
regions  of  thought  (then  newly  opened  to  the  modern  world)  to 
the  humbler  but  more  varied  and  extensive  department  of  induc 
tive  inquiry,  I  represent  to  myself  that  angel-guide,  all  light  and 
grace,  who  is  pictured  by  our  great  poet  as  slowly  conducting 
the  first  of  our  race  from  Paradise,  to  leave  him  in  a  world,  vast, 
indeed,  and  varied,  but  where  thorns  and  thistles  abounded,  and 
food — often  uncertain  and  often  perilous — was  to  be  gained  only 
by  the  sweat  of  the  brow  and  in  the  downcast  attitude  of  servile 
toil."* 

It  would  be  an  insult  to  the  reader's  understanding  to  answer 
the  several  absurdities  and  "  question-begging"  positions  of  this 
passage,  which  however  is  a  typical  specimen  of  much  that  may 
be  met  in  modern  writers ;  all  that  I  feel  called  upon  to  notice 
is  the  opening  sentence.  Contempt  for  the  metaphysical  specu 
lations  of  the  elder  sages  is  the  last  feeling  I  should  acknowledge, 
however  erroneous  I  may  believe  them  to  be.  They  were  the 
precursors  of  modern  Science.  Without  them  we  should  have 
been  in  darkness.  The  forlorn  hope  of  Humanity  can  never  be 
an  object  of  contempt.  We  follow  the  struggles  of  the  early 
thinkers  with  intense  interest,  because  we  trace  in  their  defeats 
the  causes  of  future  victory. 

The  historical  connection  of  Science  with  Philosophy,  and  the 
essential  differences  between  them,  which  led  to  their  separation 
and  the  final  neglect  of  Philosophy,  will  be  understood  ^better 
when  the  characteristics  of  the  two  are  clearly  set  forth.  The 
object  of  both  is  the  same,  namely,  Explanation  of  all  phenom 
ena.  Their  characteristic  differences,  therefore,  do  not  lie  in  the 
v  thing  sought,  so  much  as  in  the  Method  of  search.  I  have  met 
with  no  satisfactory  statement  of  these  characteristic  differences ; 
and  the  readiest  way  I  can  think  of  to  make  them  intelligible, 
will  be  to  exhibit  the  Metaphysical  and  Scientific  Methods  in 


*  Archer  Butler,  Lectures  on  the  Hist,  of  Ancient  Philosophy,  ii.  109.  The 
varied  and  accurate  erudition  of  Mr.  W.  II.  Thompson's  notes  to  these  lec 
tures  gives  these  volumes  their  chief  value. 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

operation  on  the  search  after  the  causes  of  the  same  phenome 
non  ;  for  instance,  that  of  "  Table-turning."* 

A  few  persons  stand  round  a  table,  gently  resting  their  hands 
on  it,  but  sedulously  careful  not  to  push  in  any  direction.  In  a 
little  while  the  table  moves,  at  first  slowly,  afterwards  with  grow 
ing  velocity.  The  persons  are  all  of  the  highest  respectability, 
above  suspicion  of  wilful  deceit.  The  phenomenon  is  so  unex 
pected,  so  unprecedented,  that  an  explanation  is  imperiously  de 
manded.  We  have  here  an  illustration  of  the  origin  of  Philoso 
phy.  In  presence  of  unusual  phenomena,  men  are  unable  to 

\  remain  without  some  explanation  which  shall  render  intelligible 
to  them  how  the  unusual  event  is  produced.  They  are  specta 
tors  merely ;  condemned  to  witness  the  event,  unable  to  pene 
trate  directly  into  its  causes,  unable  to  get  behind  the  scenes 
and  see  the  strings  which  move  the  puppets,  they  guess  at  what 
they  cannot  see.  In  this  way  Man  is  intcrpres  Naturae.  Whether 
he  be  metaphysician  or  man  of  science,  his  starting-point  is  the 
same ;  and  they  are  in  error  who  say  that  the  metaphysician 
differs  from  the  man  of  science  in  drawing  his  explanation  from 
the  recesses  of  his  own  mind  in  lieu  of  drawing  it  from  the  ob- 

y  servation  of  facts.  Both  observe  facts,  and  both  draw  their  in 
terpretations  from  their  own  minds.  Nay,  strictly  considered, 
there  is  necessarily,  even  in  the  most  familiar  fact,  the  annexa 
tion  of  mental  inference — something  added  by  the  mind,  sug 
gested  by,  but  not  given  in,  the  immediate  observation.  Facts 
are  the  registration  of  direct  observation  and  indirect  inference, 
congeries  of  particulars  partly  sensational,  partly  ideal.  The  sci 
entific  value  of  facts  depends  on  the  validity  of  the  inferences  bound 
up  with  them  ;  and  hence  the  profound  truth  of  Cullen's  paradox, 
that  there  are  more  false  facts  than  false  theories  current. 

The  facts  comprised  in  the  phenomenon  of  "  Table-turning" 

*  There  is  difficulty  in  selecting  a  suitable  illustration,  because  if  an  un 
disputed  scientific  truth  be  chosen,  the  reader  may  not  be  able  to  place  him 
self  at  the  metaphysical  point  of  view:  whereas  if  a  disputed  point  be 
chosen  he  may  perhaps  himself  adopt  the  metaphysical  explanation,  and  re 
fuse  to  acknowledge  the  scientific  explanation.  "Table-turning"  escapes 
both  objections.  The  mania  is  sufficiently  recent  to  permit  our  vividly  real 
izing  the  mental  condition  of  the  theorists ;  and  the  error  is  sufficiently  ex 
ploded  to  admit  of  being  treated  as  an  error. 


INTRODUCTION.  XV11 

are  by  no  means  so  simple  as  they  have  been  represented.  Let 
us  however  reserve  all  criticism,  and  fix  our  attention  solely  on 
the  phenomenon,  which,  expressed  in  rigorous  terms,  amounts  to 
this  : — the  table  turns ;  the  cause  of  its  turning  unknown.  To 
explain  this,  one  class  of  metaphysical  minds  refers  it  to  the 
agency  of  an  unseen  spirit :  connecting  this  spiritual  manifesta 
tion  with  others  which  have  been  familiar  to  him,  the  interpreter 
finds  no  difficulty  in  believing  that  a  spirit  moved  the  table ;  for 
the  movement  assuredly  issued  from  no  human  agency ;  the  re 
spectable  witnesses  declare  they  did  not  push.  Unless  the  table 
moved  itself,  therefore,  the  conclusion  must  be  that  it  was  moved 
by  a  spirit. 

Minds  of  another  class  gave  another  explanation,  one  equally 
metaphysical,  although  its  advocates  scornfully  rejected  the  spir 
itual  hypothesis.  These  minds  were  indisposed  to  admit  the  ex 
istence  of  Spirits  as  agents  in  natural  phenomena ;  but  their  in 
terpretation,  in  spite  of  its  employing  the  language  of  science, 
was  as  utterly  removed  from  scientific  induction  as  the  spiritual 
interpretation  they  despised.  They  attributed  the  phenomenon 
to  Electricity.  Connecting  this  supposed  electrical  manifestation 
with  some  other  facts  which  seemed  to  warrant  the  belief  of  ner 
vous  action  being  identical  with  electricity,  they  had  no  hesita 
tion  in  affirming  that  electricity  streamed  from  the  tips  of  the 
fingers  ;  and  it  was  even  suggested  by  one  gentleman  that  "  the 
nervous  fluid  had  probably  a  rotatory  action,  and  a  power  of 
throwing  off  some  of  its  surplus  force." 

Each  of  these  explanations  was  very  widely  accepted  by  the 
general  public,  although  few  persons  of  any  reasoning  power 
now  accept  them.  The  obvious  defect  in  both  lies  in  the  utter 
absence  of  any  guarantee.  We  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  no 
explanation  which  is  without  its  valid  guarantee.  Before  we 
purchase  silver  spoons  we  demand  to  see  the  mark  of  Silver 
smiths'  Hall,  to  be  assured  that  the  spoons  are  silver,  and  not 
plated  only.  The  test  of  the  assayer  dispels  our  misgivings.  In 
like  manner  when  the  motion  of  a  table  is  explained  by  spiritual 
agency,  instead  of  debating  whether  the  spirit  bring  airs  from 
heaven  or  blasts  from  hell,  we  suffer  our  skepticism  to  fall  on  the 
preliminary  assumption  of  the  spirit's  presence.  Prove  the  pres- 


XV111  INTEODUCTION. 

ence  of  the  spirit,  before  you  ask  us  to  go  further.  We  may 
admit  that,  if  present,  the  spirit  is  capable  of  producing  this  mo 
tion  of  the  table ;  but  we  cannot  permit  you  to  assume  such  a 
presence  merely  to  explain  such  a  movement;  for  if  the  fact  to 
be  explained  is  sufficient  proof  of  the  explanation,  we  might 
with  equal  justice  assume  that  the  movement  was  caused  by  an 
invisible  dragon  who  turned  the  table  by  the  fanning  of  his  awful 
wings. 

A  similar  initial  error  is  observable  in  the  electrical  hypothesis. 
Electricity  may  be  a  less  intrinsically  improbable  assumption,  but 
its  presence  requires  proof.  After  that  step  had  been  taken,  we 
should  require  proof  that  electricity  could  comport  itself  with 
reference  to  tables  and  similar  bodies  in  this  particular  manner. 
We  have  various  tests  for  the  presence  of  electricity ;  various 
means  of  ascertaining  how  it  would  act  upon  a  table.  But  see 
ing  that  the  gentleman  who  spoke  so  confidently  of  "  currents 
issuing  from  the  tips  of  the  fingers"  never  once  attempted  to 
prove  that  there  were  currents  ;  and  knowing  moreover  that  these 
currents,  if  present,  would  not  make  a  table  turn,  all  men  of  true 
scientific  culture  dismissed  the  explanation  with  contempt. 

Such  were  the  metaphysical  Methods  of  explaining  the  phe 
nomenon.  Let  us  now  watch  the  scientific  Method.  The  point 
sought  is  the  unknown  cause  of  the  table's  movement.  To  reach 
the  unknown  we  must  pass  through  the  avenues  of  the  known  ; 
we  must  not  attempt  to  reach  it  through  the  unknown.  Is 
there  any  known  fact  with  which  this  movement  can  be  allied  ? 
The  first  and  most  obvious  suggestion  is,  that  the  table  was 
pushed  by  the  hands  which  rested  on  it.  There  is  a  difficulty 
in  the  way  of  this  explanation,  namely,  that  the  persons  declare 
solemnly  they  did  not  push ;  and,  as  persons  of  the  highest  re 
spectability,  we  are  bound  to  believe  them.  Is  this  statement  of 
any  value  ?  The  whole  question  is  involved  in  it.  But  the  phi 
losophical  mind  is  very  little  affected  by  guarantees  of  respecta 
bility  in  matters  implicating  sagacity  rather  than  integrity. 
The  Frenchman  assured  his  friend  that  the  earth  did  turn  round 
the  sun,  and  offered  his  jjarole  d'honneur  as  a  guarantee ;  but  in 
the  delicate  and  difficult  questions  of  science  paroles  tPhonneur 
have  a  quite  inappreciable  weight.  We  may  therefore  set  aside 


INTRODUCTION.  XIX 

the  respectability  of  the  witnesses,  and,  with  full  confidence  in 
their  integrity,  estimate  the  real  value  of  their  assertion,  which 
amounts  to  this  :  they  were  not  conscious  of  pushing.  We  now 
see  that  the  fact,  which  was  imagined  to  be  simple,  namely,  that 
"  the  persons  did  not  push,"  turns  out  to  be  excessively  dubious, 
namely,  "  they  were  not  conscious  of  pushing."  If  we  come  to 
examine  such  a  case,  we  find  Physiology  in  possession  of  abun 
dant  examples  of  muscular  action  accompanied  by  no  distinct 
consciousness,  and  some  of  these  examples  are  very  similar  to 
those  of  the  unconscious  pushing,  which  may  have  turned  the 
table ;  and  we  are  thus  satisfied  of  three  important  points : — 
1.  Pushing  is  an  adequate  cause,  and  will  serve  to  explain  the 
movement  of  the  table,  as  well  as  either  the  supposed  spirit  or 
electricity.  2.  Pushing  may  take  place  without  any  distinct 
consciousness  on  the  part  of  those  who  push.  3.  Expectant  at 
tention  is  known  to  produce  such  a  state  of  the  muscles  as  would 
occasion  this  unconscious  pushing. 

Considered  therefore  as  a  mere  hypothesis,  this  of  unconscious 
pushing  is  strictly  scientific ;  it  may  not  be  true,  but  it  has  ful 
filled  the  preliminary  conditions.  Unlike  the  two  hypotheses  it 
opposes,  it  assumes  nothing  previously  unknown,  or  not  easily 
demonstrable  ;  every  position  has  been  verified ;  whereas  the 
metaphysicians  have  not  verified  one  of  their  positions :  they 
have  not  proved  the  presence  of  their  agents,  nor  have  they 
proved  that  these  agents,  if  present,  would  act  in  the  required 
manner.  Of  spirit  we  know  nothing,  consequently  can  predicate 
nothing.  Of  electricity  we  know  something,  but  what  is  known 
is  not  in  accordance  with  the  table-turning  hypothesis.  Of  push 
ing  we  know  that  it  can  and  does  turn  tables.  All  then  that  is 
required  to  convert  this  latter  hypothesis  into  scientific  certainty, 
is  to  prove  the  presence  of  the  pushing  in  this  particular  case. 
And  it  is  proved  in  many  ways,  positive  and  negative,  as  I  showed 
when  the  phenomenon  first  became  the  subject  of  public  investi 
gation.  Positive,  because  if  the  hands  rest  on  a  loose  table 
cloth,  or  on  substances  with  perfectly  smooth  surfaces  which 
will  glide  easily  over  the  table,  the  cloth  or  the  substances  will 
move,  and  not  the  table.  Negative,  because  if  the  persons  are 
duly  ivarned  of  their  liability  to  unconscious  pushing,  and  are 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

told  to  keep  vigilant  guard  over  their  sensations,  they  do  not 
move  the  table,  although  previously  they  have  moved  it  fre 
quently.  When  we  have  thus  verified  the  presence  of  uncon 
scious  pushing,  all  the  links  in  the  chain  have  been  verified,  and 
certainty  is  complete. 

Reviewing  the  three  explanations  which  the  phenomenon  of 
table-turning  called  forth,  we  elicit  one  characteristic  as  distin 
guishing  the  scientific  Method,  namely,  the  verification  of  each 
stage  in  the  process,  the  guaranteeing  of  each  separate  point,  the 
cultivated  caution  of  proceeding  to  the  unknown  solely  through 
the  avenues  of  the  known.  The  germinal  difference,  then,  be 
tween  the  metaphysical  and  scientific  Methods,  is  not  that  they 
draw  their  explanations  from  a  different  source,  the  one  employ 
ing  Reasoning  where  the  other  employs  Observation,  but  that 
the  one  is  content  with  an  explanation  which  has  no  further 
guarantee  than  is  given  in  the  logical  explanation  of  the  diffi 
culty  ;  whereas  the  other  imperatively  demands  that  every  as 
sumption  should  be  treated  as  provisional,  hypothetical,  until  it 
has  been  confronted  with  fact,  tested  by  acknowledged  tests,  in 
a  word,  verified.  The  guarantee  of  the  metaphysician  is  purely 
logical,  subjective :  it  is  the  intellectus  sibi  permissus ;  the 
guarantee  of  the  other  is  derived  from  a  correspondence  of  the 
idea  with  experience.  As  Bacon  says,  all  merely  logical  explana 
tions  are  valueless,  the  subtlety  of  nature  greatly  surpassing  that 
of  argument :  "  Subtilitas  naturas  subtilitatem  argumentaudi 
multis  partibus  superat ;"  and  he  further  says,  with  his  usual 
felicity,  "  Sed  axiomata  a  particularibus  rite  et  ordine  abstracta 
nova  particularia  rursus  facile  indicant  et  designant."  It  is  these 
"new  particulars"  which  are  reached  through  those  already 
known,  and  complete  the  links  of  the  causal  chain. 

Open  the  history  of  Science  at  any  chapter  you  will,  and  its 
pages  will  show  how  all  the  errors  which  have  gained  acceptance 
gained  it  because  this  important  principle  of  verification  of  par 
ticulars  was  neglected.  Incessantly  the  mind  of  man  leaps  for 
ward  to  "  anticipate"  Nature,  and  is  satisfied  with  such  anticipa 
tions  if  they  have  a  logical  consistence.  When  Galen  and  Aris 
totle  thought  that  the  air  circulated  in  the  arteries,  causing  the 
pulse  to  beat,  and  cooling  the  temperature  of  the  blood,  they 


INTRODUCTION.  XXI 

were  content  with  this  plausible  anticipation  ;  they  did  not  verify 
the  facts  of  the  air's  presence,  and  its  cooling  effect ;  when  they 
said  that  the  "  spirituous  blood"  nourished  the  delicate  organs, 
such  as  the  lungs,  and  the  "  venous  blood"  nourished  the  coarser 
organs,  such  as  the  liver ;  when  they  said  that  the  "  spirit," 
which  was  the  purer  element  of  the  blood,  was  formed  in  the 
left  ventricle,  and  the  venous  blood  in  the  right  ventricle,  they 
contented  themselves  with  unverified  assumptions.  In  like  man 
ner,  when  in  our  own  day  physiologists  of  eminence  maintain 
that  in  the  organism  there  is  a  Vital  Force  which  suspends  chem 
ical  actions,  they  content  themselves  with  a  metaphysical  unver 
ified  interpretation  of  phenomena.  If  they  came  to  rigorous 
confrontation  with  fact,  they  would  see  that  so  far  from  chemical 
action  being  "suspended"  it  is  incessantly  at  work  in  the  organ 
ism  ;  the  varieties  observable  being  either  due  to  a  difference  of 
conditions  (which  will  produce  varieties  out  of  the  organism),  or 
to  the  fact  that  the  action  is  masked  by  other  actions. 

If  the  foregoing  discussion  has  carried  with  it  the  reader's  as 
sent,  he  will  perceive  that  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of 
Science  is  its  Method  of  graduated  Verification,  and  not,  as  some 
think,  the  employment  of  Induction  in  lieu  of  Deduction.  All 
Science  is  deductive,  and  deductive  in  proportion  to  its  separa 
tion  from  ordinary  Jcnoivledge,  and  its  co-ordination  into  sys 
tematic  Science.  "  Although  all  sciences  tend  to  become  more 
and  more  deductive,"  says  a  great  authority,  "they  are  not 
therefore  the  less  inductive  ;  every  step  in  the  deduction  is  still 
an  induction.  The  opposition  is  not  between  the  terms  Induc 
tive  and  Deductive,  but  between  Deductive  and  Experimental."* 
Experiment  is  the  great  instrument  of  Verification.  The  differ 
ence  between  the  ancient  and  modern  philosophies  lies  in  the 
facility  with  which  the  one  accepted  axioms  and  hypotheses  as 
the  basis  for  its  deductions,  and  the  cultivated  caution  with  which 
the  other  insists  on  verifying  its  axioms  and  hypotheses  before 

*  Mill's  System  of  Logic :  perhaps  the  greatest  contribution  to  English 
speculation  since  Locke's  Essay.  Had  Mr.  Mill  invented  a  new  terminology 
and  expressed  himself  with  less  clearness,  he  would  assuredly  have  gained 
that  reputation  for  profundity  which,  by  a  thorough  misconception  of  the 
nature  of  thought,  is  so  often  awarded  to  obscurity. 


XXI]  INTRODUCTION. 

deducing  conclusions  from  them.  We  guess  as  freely  as  the 
ancients  ;  but  we  know  that  we  are  guessing;  and  if  we  chance 
to  forget  it,  our  rivals  quickly  remind  us  that  our  guess  is  not 
evidence.  Without  guessing,  Science  would  be  impossible.  We 
should  never  discover  new  islands,  did  we  not  often  venture  sea 
wards  with  intent  to  sail  beyond  the  sunset.  To  find  new  land, 
we  must  often  quit  sight  of  land.  As  Mr.  Thompson  admirably 
expresses  it : — "  Philosophy  proceeds  upon  a  system  of  credit, 
and  if  she  never  advanced  beyond  her  tangible  capital,  our  wealth 
would  not  be  so  enormous  as  it  is."*  While  both  metaphysician 
and  man  of  science  trade  on  a  system  of  credit,  they  do  so  with 
profoundly  different  views  of  its  aid.  The  metaphysician  is  a 
merchant  who  speculates  boldly,  but  without  that  convertible 
capital  which  can  enable  him  to  meet  his  engagements.  He 
gives  bills,  yet  has  no  gold,  no  goods  to  answer  for  them  ;  these 
bills  are  not  representative  of  wealth  which  exists  in  any  ware 
house.  Magnificent  as  his  speculations  seem,  the  first  obstinate 
creditor  who  insists  on  payment  makes  him  bankrupt.  The 
man  of  science  is  also  a  venturesome  merchant,  but  one  fully 
alive  to  the  necessity  of  solid  capital  which  can  on  emergency  be 
produced  to  meet  his  bills  ;  he  knows  the  risks  he  runs  whenever 
that  amount  of  capital  is  exceeded ;  he  knows  that  bankruptcy 
awaits  him  if  capital  be  not  forthcoming. 

The  contrast  therefore  between  Philosophy  and  Science,  or 
Metaphysics  and  Positive  Philosophy,  is  a  contrast  of  Method  ; 
but  we  must  not  suppose  that  the  Method  of  the  one  is  Deduc 
tion,  while  that  of  the  other  is  Observation.  Nothing  can  be 
more  erroneous  than  the  vulgar  notion  of  the  "  Inductive  Method," 
as  one  limited  to  the  observation  of  facts.  Every  instructed 
thinker  knows  that  facts  of  observation  are  particular  theories  ; 
that  is  to  say,  every  fact  which  is  registered  as  an  observation  is 
constituted  by  a  synthesis  of  sensation  and  inference.  We  shall 
see  this  illustrated  presently.  To  it  must  be  added  the  truth 
that  Science  is  constantly  making  discoveries  by  Reasoning  alone, 
aloof  from  any  immediate  exercise  of  Observation,  aloof  indeed 
from  the  very  phenomena  it  classifies  ;  for  when  facts  are  regis- 

*  Outlines  of  the  Laws  of  Thought,  p.  312. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXI 11 

tered  in  formulas,  we  resign  ourselves  to  the  manipulation  of 
these  formulas  as  symbols  or  equations,  assured  that  the  result 
will  accord  with  Nature.  Fresnel  predicted  the  change  in  polar 
ization  from  no  observation  of  facts  immediately  lying  before 
him,  but  from  a  happy  elucidation  of  algebraic  symbols.  As 
tronomy  is  more  studied  on  paper  than  through  the  telescope, 
which  however  is  called  upon  to  verify  the  results  figured  on 
paper.  So  that  if  we  compare  our  astronomical  and  geological 
theories  with  the  cosmical  speculations  of  a  Plato  or  a  Hegel, 
we  shall  not  find  them  deficient  in  the  speculative  daring  which 
outruns  the  slow  process  of  observation,  but  we  shall  find  the 
difference  to  lie  initially  in  the  rigor  with  which  our  deductive 
formulas  are  established,  and  in  the  different  estimates  we  form 
of  what  is  valid  evidence. 

Galileo  made  Astronomy  a  science  when  he  began  to  seek  the 
unknown  through  the  known,  and  to  interpret  celestial  phenom 
ena  by  those  laws  of  motion  which  were  recognized  on  the  sur 
face  of  the  earth.  Geology  became  possible  as  a  science  when 
its  principal  phenomena  were  explained  by  those  laws  of  the 
action  of  water,  visibly  operating  in  every  river,  estuary,  and  bay. 
Except  in  the  grandeur  of  its  sweep,  the  mind  pursues  the  same 
course  in  the  interpretation  of  geological  facts  which  record  the 
annals  of  the  universe,  as  in  the  interpretation  of  the  ordinary 
incidents  of  daily  life.  To  read  the  pages  of  the  great  Stone- 
book,  and  to  perceive  from  the  wet  streets  that  rain  has  recently 
fallen,  are  the  same  intellectual  processes.  In  the  one  case  the 
mind  traverses  immeasurable  spaces  of  time,  and  infers  that  the 
phenomena  were  produced  by  causes  similar  to  those  which  have 
produced  similar  phenomena  within  recent  experience ;  in  the 
other  case,  the  mind  similarly  infers  that  the  wet  streets  and 
swollen  gutters  have  been  produced  by  the  same  cause  we  have 
frequently  observed  to  produce  them.  Let  the  inference  span 
with  its  mighty  arch  a  myriad  of  years,  or  span  but  a  few  min 
utes,  in  each  case  it  rises  from  the  ground  of  certain  familiar  indi 
cations,  and  reaches  an  antecedent  known  to  be  capable  of  pro 
ducing  these  indications.  Both  inferences  may  be  wrong :  the 
wet  streets  may  have  been  wetted  by  a  water-cart,  or  by  the 
bursting  of  a  pipe.  We  cast  about  for  some  other  indication  of 


INTRODUCTION. 

rain  besides  the  wetness  of  the  streets  and  the  turbid  rush  of 
gutters,  which  might  equally  have  been  produced  by  the  burst 
ing  of  a  water-pipe.  If  we  see  passers-by  carrying  wet  umbrellas, 
some  still  held  above  the  head,  our  inference  is  strengthened  by 
this  indication,  that  rain,  and  no  other  cause,  produced  the  phe 
nomena.  In  like  manner,  the  geologist  casts  about  for  other 
indications  besides  those  of  the  subsidence  of  water,  and  as  they 
accumulate,  his  conviction  strengthens. 

While  this  is  the  course  of  Science,  the  course  of  Philosophy 
is  very  different.  Its  inferences  start  from  no  well-grounded 
basis ;  the  arches  they  throw  are  not  from  known  fact  to  un 
known  fact,  but  from  some  unknown  to  some  other  unknown. 
Deductions  are  drawn  from  the  nature  of  God,  the  nature  of 
Spirit,  the  essences  of  Things,  and  from  what  Reason  can  postu 
late.  Rising  from  such  mists,  the  arch  so  brilliant  to  look  upon 
is  after  all  a  rainbow,  not  a  bridge. 

To  make  his  method  legitimate,  the  Philosopher  must  first 
prove  that  a  co-ordinate  correspondence  exists  between  Nature 
and  his  Intuitional  Reason,*  so  that  whatever  is  true  of  the  one 
must  be  true  of  the  other.  The  geologist,  for  example,  pro 
ceeds  on  the  assumption  that  the  action  of  waters  was  essen 
tially  the  same  millions  of  years  ago  as  it  is  in  the  present  day  ; 
so  that  whatever  can  be  positively  proved  of  it  now,  may  be  con 
fidently  asserted  of  it  then.  He  subsequently  brings  evidence 
to  corroborate  his  assumption  by  showing  that  the  assumption  is 
necessary  and  competent  to  explain  facts  not  otherwise  to  be 
consistently  explained.  But  does  the  Philosopher  stand  in  a 
similar  position  ?  Does  he  show  any  validity  in  his  preliminary 
assumption  ?  Does  he  produce  any  evidence  for  the  existence  of 
a  nexus  between  his  Intuitional  Reason  and  those  noumena  or 
essences,  about  which  he  reasons ;  does  he  show  the  probability 
of  there  being  such  a  correspondence  between  the  two,  that  what 

*  By  Intuitional  Reason  I  here  wish  to  express  what  the  Germans  call 
Vernunft,  which  they  distinguish  from  Verstand,  as  Coleridge  tried  to  make 
Englishmen  distinguish  between  Reason  and  Understanding.  The  term 
Reason  is  too  deeply  rooted  in  our  language  to  be  twisted  into  any  new  direc 
tion  ;  and  I  hope  by  the  unusual  "  Intuitional  Reason"  to  keep  the  reader's 
attention  alive  to  the  fact  that  by  it  is  designated  the  process  of  the  mind 
engaged  in  transcendental  inquiry. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXV 

is  true  of  the  one  may  be  accepted  as  probable  of  the  other  ? 
Nothing  of  the  kind.  He  assumes  that  it  is  so.  He  assumes,  as 
a  preliminary  to  all  Philosophy,  that  Intuitional  Reason  is  com 
petent  to  deliver  verdicts,  even  when  the  evidence  is  entirely 
furnished  by  itself.  He  assumes  that  Intuitions  are  face  to  face 
with  Existences,  and  have  consequently  immediate  knowledge  of 
them.  But  this  immense  assumption,  this  gratuitous  begging  of 
the  whole  question,  can  only  be  permitted  after  a  demonstration 
that  the  contrary  assumption  must  be  false.  Now  it  is  certain 
that  we  can  assume  the  contrary,  and  assume  it  on  evidence  as 
cogent  as  that  which  furnishes  his  assumption.  I  can  assume 
that  Intuitions  are  not  face  to  face  with  Existences  ;  indeed  this 
assumption  seems  to  me  by  far  the  most  probable ;  and  it  is 
surely  as  valid  as  the  one  it  opposes  ?  I  call  upon  the  metaphy 
sician  to  prove  the  validity  of  his  assumption,  or  the  invalidity 
of  mine.  I  call  upon  him  for  some  principle  of  verification.  He 
may  tell  me  (as  in  past  years  the  Hegelians  u§ed  to  tell  me,  not 
without  impatience)  that  "  Reason  must  verify  itself;"  but  un 
happily  Reason  has  no  such  power ;  for  if  it  had,  Philosophy 
would  not  be  disputing  about  first  principles ;  and  when  it  claims 
the  power,  who  is  to  answer  for  its  accuracy,  quis  custodiet  ipsos 
custodes  ?  If  Philosophy  is  possible,  its  only  basis  rests  on  the 
correspondence  between  Nature  and  Intuitional  Reason.  But  a 
correct  analysis  of  our  intellectual  processes  will  furnish  a  solvent 
which  will  utterly  destroy  the  last  shred  of  organic  basis  out  of 
which  Philosophy  grows. 

Reasoning,  if  I  rightly  apprehend  it,  is  the  same  intellectual 
process  as  Perception,  with  this  difference,  that  Perception  is  in 
ferential  respecting  objects  present,  and  Reasoning  is  inferential 
respecting  objects  absent.  In  the  laxity  of  current  language, 
sensations  and  perceptions  are  almost  convertible  terms  ;  but  if 
we  rigorously  separate  from  our  perceptions  all  those  elements 
not  actually  given  in  the  momentary  sensations,  it  will  be  evident 
that  Perception  is  distinguished  from  Sensation  by  the  addition 
of  certain  inferences :  as  when  we  perceive  a  substance  to  be 
hard,  square,  odorous,  sweet,  etc.,  from  certain  inferences  rising- 
out  of  its  form,  color,  etc.,  although  we  do  not  actually  touch, 
smell,  or  taste  the  object.  What  is  this  process  of  inference  ?  It 


XXVI  INTRODUCTION. 

is  a  presentation  before  the  consciousness  of  something  which  has 
been  formerly  observed  in  conjunction  with  the  object,  and  is 
therefore  supposed  to  be  now  actually  present  in  fact,  although 
not  present  in  sensation.  I  have  no  sensation  of  sweetness  when 
I  see  the  lump  of  sugar  ;  but  the  sight  of  the  sugar  brings  before 
my  consciousness  the  sweetness,  which  the  sugar  will  bring  to 
my  sensibility  when  in  contact  with  my  tongue.  I  perceive  the 
sweetness  ;  and  I  do  this  by  making  present  to  my  mind  what  is 
absent  from  sense.  I  infer  that  the  lump  of  white  substance  be 
fore  me  is  sugar,  as  I  infer  that  it  rains  when  I  see,  from  my 
window,  water  falling  on  the  streets.  In  both  cases  the  inference 

O 

may  be  wrong.  The  white  substance  may  be  salt ;  the  falling- 
water  may  be  the  spray  of  the  garden-hose.  But  in  each  and 
every  case  of  Perception,  a  something  is  added  to  the  Sensation, 
and  that  something  is  inferential,  or  the  assumption  of  some 
quality  present  in  fact  which  is  not  present  in  sense. 

Reasoning  is  likewise  inferential,  but  about  objects  which,  al 
though  they  were  formerly  given  in  sense,  are  now  absent  alto 
gether.  Reasoning  is  the  presentation  before  the  consciousness, 
of  objects  which,  if  actually  present,  would  affect  the  conscious 
ness  in  a  similar  way.  It  mentally  supplies  their  existence. 
Thus,  when  from  the  wet  streets  and  turbulent  gutters  I  conclude, 
or  infer,  that  it  has  rained,  I  make  present  to  myself  the  phe 
nomena  of  falling  water  in  somewhat  the  same  order  as  the  fall 
ing  water  would  follow  if  present.  On  closely  attending  to  any 
chain  of  Reasoning  we  shall  find  that-  if  it  were  possible  to  real 
ize  all  the  links  in  the  chain,  i.  e.  so  to  place  the  actual  objects  in 
their  connected  series  that  we  could  see  them,  this  mental  series 
would  become  a  visible  series,  and,  in  lieu  of  reasonings,  would 
afford  direct  perceptions.  Good  reasoning  is  the  ideal  assem 
blage  of  facts,  and  their  re-presentation  to  the  mind  in  the  order 
of  their  actual  series.  It  is  seeing  with  the  mind's  eye.  Bad 
reasoning  will  always  be  found  to  depend  on  some  of  the  objects 
not  being  mentally  present ;  some  links  in  the  chain  are  dropped 
or  overlooked  ;  some  objects  instead  of  being  re-presented  are 
left  absent,  or  are  presented  so  imperfectly  that  the  inferences 
from  them  are  as  erroneous  as  the  inferences  from  imperfect 
vision  are  erroneous.  Bad  reasoning  is  imperfect  re-presentation. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXV11 

This  explanation  of  the  intellectual  operations  is,  I  believe, 
novel ;  should  it  be  accepted,  it  will  light  up  many  obscure  ques 
tions.  But  for  the  present  we  must  only  notice  its  bearing  on 
Philosophy.  When  the  table-turners  concluded  that  electricity 
was  the  cause  of  the  table's  movement,  they  did  not  make  present 
to  their  minds  the  real  facts  of  electricity  and  its  modes  of  opera 
tions  ;  otherwise  they  would  have  seen  that  electricity  would  not 
turn  the  table  round,  and  they  would  have  seen  this  almost  as 
vividly  as  if  a  battery  had  been  then  and  there  applied  to  the 
table.  Faraday,  on  the  contrary,  did  make  these  facts  mentally 
present,  so  as  not  to  need  the  actual  presence  of  a  battery ;  and 
his  correct  reasoning  might  not  be  owing  to  any  greater  general 
vigor  of  ratiocination,  but  to  his  greater  power  of  making  these 
particular  facts  mentally  present.  Describe  an  invention  to  Dr. 
Neil  Arnott,  and  he  will  be  able  to  reason  on  its  practicability 
almost  as  well  as  if  he  saw  the  machine  in  operation  :  because 
he  can  mentally  make  present  to  himself  all  the  details  of  struc 
ture,  and  from  these  infer  all  the  details  of  action,  just  as  his 
direct  inferences  would  follow  the  actual  presentation  of  the 
objects.  There  are  two  modes  of  detecting  false  logic,  and  there 
are  but  two :  either  we  must  reduce  the  argument  to  a  series  of 
sensations — make  the  facts  in  question  visible  to  sense,  and  show 
that  the  sequences  and  co-existences  of  these  facts  are  not  what 
the  reasoner  asserted  them  to  be  ;  or  we  must  mentally  supply 
the  place  of  this  visible  demonstration,  and  by  re-presenting  the 
objects  before  the  mind,  see  where  their  sequences  and  co-exist 
ences  differ  from  what  the  reasoner  asserted  them  to  be. 

If  all  Reasoning  be  the  re-presentation  of  what  is  now  absent 
but  formerly  was  present,  and  can  again  be  made  present, — in 
other  words,  if  the  test  of  accurate  reasoning  is  its  reduction  to 
fact, — then  is  it  evident  that  Philosophy,  dealing  with  transcen 
dental  objects  which  cannot  be  present,  and  employing  a  Method 
which  admits  of  no  verification  (or  reduction  to  the  test  of  fact) 
must  be  an  impossible  attempt.  And  if  I  am  asked  how  it  is 
that  philosophers  have  reasoned  at  all  on  transcendental  subjects, 
since  according  to  my  statement  they  could  only  reason  by 
making  such  subjects  present  to  their  minds,  the  reply  is  that 
they  could  not,  and  did  not,  make  present  to  their  minds  any 


XXV111  INTRODUCTION. 

such  subjects  at  all ;  the  Infinite  was  really  conceded  by  them 
as  Finite,  the  Unconditioned  as  Conditioned,  Spirit  as  Body, 
Noumenon  as  Phenomenon  ;  for  only  thus  were  these  things 
conceivable  at  all.  Thus  it  is  only  possible  to  take  the  first  step 
in  Philosophy  by  bringing  transcendental  subjects  within  the 
sphere  of  experience,  i.  e.  making  them  no  longer  transcendental. 
Thus,  and  thus  only,  is  it  possible  for  us  to  reason  on  such  topics. 

All  this  will  doubtless  be  utterly  denied  by  metaphysicians. 
They  proceed  on  the  assumption  that  Intuitional  Reason,  which 
is  independent  of  experience,  is  absolute  and  final  in  its  guaran 
tee.  The  validity  of  its  conclusions  is  self-justified.  Hegel 
boldly  says,  "  Whatever  is  rational  is  real,  and  whatever  is  real  is 
rational, — das  Vernunftige.  ist  wirlclicli  und  das  Wirkliche  ver- 
nunftig"  And  writers  of  less  metaphysical  rigor  frequently 
avow  the  axiom,  and  always  imply  it.  Thus  in  a  remarkable 
article  on  Sir  W.  Hamilton,  which  appeared  in  the  Prospective 
Review  (understood  to  be  by  Mr.  James  Martineau),  we  read  that 
Philosophy  in  England  has  dwindled  down  to  mere  Psychology 
and  Logic,  whereas  its  proper  business  is  with  the  notions  of 
Time,  Space,  Substance,  Soul,  God ;  "  to  pronounce  upon  the 
validity  of  these  notions  as  revelations  of  real  Existence,  and,  if 
they  be  reliable,  use  them  as  a  bridge  to  cross  the  chasm  from 
relative  Thought  to  absolute  Being.  Once  safe  across,  and 
gazing  about  it  in  that  realm,  the  mind  stands  in  presence  of  the 
objects  of  Ontology." 

"  Once  safe  across  ;"  this  is  indeed  the  step  which  constitutes 
the  whole  journey;  unhappily  we  have  no  means  of  getting  safe 
across ;  and  in  this  helplessness  we  had  better  hold  ourselves 
aloof  from  the  attempt.  If  a  man  were  to  discourse  with  ampli 
tude  of  detail  and  eloquence  of  conviction  respecting  the  inhabit 
ants  of  Sinus,  setting  forth  in  explicit  terms  what  they  were 
like,  what  embryonic  forms  they  passed  through,  what  had  been 
the  course  of  their  social  evolution  and  what  would  be  its  ulti 
mate  stage,  we  should  first  ask,  And  pray,  Sir,  what  evidence 
have  you  for  these  particulars  ?  what  guarantee  do  you  offer  for 
the  validity  of  these  conclusions  ?  If  lie  replied  that  Intuitional 
Reason  assured  him  these  things  must  be  so  from  the  inherent 
necessities  of  the  case,  he  having  logically  evolved  these  conclu- 


INTRODUCTION.  XXIX 

sions  from  the  data  of  Keason ;  Ave  should  suppose  him  to  be 
either  attempting  to  mystify  us,  or  to  be  hopelessly  insane.  Nor 
would  this  painful  impression  be  removed  by  his  proceeding  to 
affirm  that  he  never  thought  of  trusting  to  such  fallacious  argu 
ments  as  could  be  furnished  by  observation  and  experiment — 
tests  wholly  inapplicable  to  objects  so  remote  from  all  experience, 
objects  accessible  only  by  Reason. 

In  the  present  day,  speculations  on  Metaphysics  are  not,  in 
trinsically,  more  rational  than  speculations  on  the  development 
of  animated  beings  peopling  Sirius ;  nay,  however  masked  by 
the  ambiguities  of  language  and  old  familiarities  of  speculation, 
which  seem  to  justify  Metaphysics,  the  attempt  of  the  Philoso 
pher  is  really  less  rational,  the  objects  being  even  less  accessible. 
Psychology  has  taught  us  one  lesson  at  least,  namely,  that  we 
cannot  know  causes  and  essences,  because  our  experience  is  lim 
ited  to  sequences  and  phenomena.  Nothing  is  gained  by 
despising  Experience,  and  seeking  refuge  in  Intuition.  The 
senses  may  be  imperfect  channels,  but  at  any  rate  they  are  in 
direct  communication  with  their  objects,  and  are  true  up  to  a  cer 
tain  point.  The  error  arising  from  one  sense  may  be  corrected 
by  another  ;  what  to  the  eye  appears  round,  the  hand  feels  to  be 
square.  But  Intuition  has  no  such  safeguard.  It  has  only  itself 
to  correct  its  own  errors.  Holding  itself  aloof  from  the  corrobo- 
rations  of  Sense,  it  is  aloof  from  all  possible  verification,  because 
it  cannot  employ  the  test  of  confrontation  with  fact. 

This  conviction  has  been  growing  slowly.  It  could  never 
have  obtained  general  acceptance  until  Philosophy  had  proved 
its  incapacity  by  centuries  of  failure.  In  the  course  of  our  His 
tory  we  shall  see  the  question  of  Certitude  continually  forced 
upon  philosophers,  always  producing  a  crisis  in  speculation, 
although  always  again  eluded  by  the  more  eager  and  impatient 
intellects.  Finally,  these  repeated  crises  disengage  the  majority 
of  minds  from  so  hopeless  a  pursuit,  and  set  them  free  to  follow 
^  Science  which  has  Certitude.  If  our  History  has  any  value,  it  is 
in  the  emphatic  sanction  it  thus  gives  to  the  growing  neglect  of 
Philosophy,  the  growing  preference  for  Science.  In  the  former 
edition  I  adopted  the  common  view  which  regards  the  distinc 
tion  between  Philosophy  and  Science  as  lying  in  the  pursuit  of 


XXX  INTRODUCTION. 

different  objects.  "  Philosophy  aspires  to  the  knowledge  of 
essences  and  causes.  Positive  Science  aspires  only  to  the  knowl 
edge  of  Laws.  The  one  pretends  to  discover  what  things  are, 
in  themselves,  apart  from  their  appearances  to  sense  ;  and  whence 
they  came.  The  other  only  wishes  to  discover  their  modus  ope- 
randi,  observing  the  constant  co-existences  and  successions  of 
phenomena  among  themselves,  and  generalizing  them  into  some 
one  Law?  But  this  I  no  longer  regard  as  the  whole  truth.  It 

^  0* 

does  not  discriminate  between  scientific  and  metaphysical  specu 
lation  on  subjects  within  the  scope  of  Science ;  such  for  instance 
as  the  phenomena  of  life,  or  such  as  table-turning.  The  vital  and 
fundamental  difference  between  the  two  orders  of  speculation 
does  not  lie  in  their  objects,  but  in  their  methods.  A  priori, 
indeed,  wre  might  conclude  that  such  a  circumscription  of  the 
aims  of  speculation  as  is  implied  in  Science  would  necessarily 
bring  about  a  corresponding  change  in  Method ;  in  other  words, 
that  men  having  once  relinquished  the  pursuit  of  essences  and 
causes  would  have  been  forced  to  adopt  the  Method  of  Verifica 
tion,  because  that  alone  was  competent  to  lead  to  certitude.  But 
History  tells  a  different  tale.  Men  did  not  adopt  the  Method  of 
Verification  because  they  had  previously  relinquished  all  attempts 
to  penetrate  into  causes  ;  but  they  relinquished  all  attempts  to 
penetrate  into  causes  because  they  found  that  the  only  Method 
which  could  lead  to  certainty  was  the  Method  of  Verification, 
which  was  not  applicable  to  causes,  Hence  a  gradual  elimina 
tion  followed  the  gradual  rise  of  each  particular  science  ;  till  at 
last,  in  the  doctrine  of  Auguste  Comte,  all  inquiry  is  limited  to 
such  objects  as  admit  of  verification,  in  one  way  or  another. 

The  Method  of  Verification,  let  us  never  forget,  is  the  one 
grand  characteristic  distinguishing  Science  from  Philosophy, 
modern  inquiry  from  ancient  inquiry.  Of  the  ancients,  Fonte- 
nelle  felicitously  says :  "  Souvent  de  faibles  convenances,  de 
petites  similitudes,  des  discours  vagues  et  confus,  passent  chez 
eux  pour  des  preuves  :  aussi  rien  ne  leur  coute  a  prouver"  The 
proof  is,  with  us,  the  great  object  of  solicitude.  We  demand  cer 
tainty  ;  and  as  the  course  of  human  evolution  shows  certainty  to 
be  attainable  on  no  other  Method  than  the  one  followed  by  Sci 
ence,  the  condemnation  of  Metaphysics  is  inevitable. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXI 

Grand,  indeed,  has  been  the  effort  of  Philosophy ;  great  the 
part  it  has  played  in  the  drama  of  civilization ;  but  the  part  is 
played  out.  It  has  left  the  legacy  bequeathed  by  every  great 
effort.  It  has  enriched  all  succeeding  ages,  but  its  work  is  ac 
complished.  Men  have  grown  less  presumptuous  in  speculation, 
and  inconceivably  more  daring  in  practice.  They  no  longer 
attempt  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  the  universe,  but  they  ex 
plore  the  universe,  and  yoke  all  natural  forces  to  their  splendid 
chariot  of  Progress.  The  marvels  of  our  age  would  have  seemed 
more  incredible  to  Plato,  than  were  the  Arabian  Nights  to  Ben- 
tham  ;  but  while  Science  thus  enables  us  to  realize  a  wonderland 
of  fact,  it  teaches  us  to  regard  the  unhesitating  temerities  of  Plato 
and  Plotinus  as  we  regard  the  efforts  of  a  child  to  grasp  the  moon. 

Philosophy  was  the  great  initiator  of  Science.  It  rescued  the 
nobler  part  of  man  from  the  dominion  of  brutish  apathy  and 
helpless  ignorance,  nourished  his  mind  with  mighty  impulses, 
exercised  it  in  magnificent  efforts,  gave  him  the  unslaked,  un- 
slakable  thirst  for  knowledge  which  has  dignified  his  life,  and 
enabled  him  to  multiply  tenfold  his  existence  and  his  happiness. 
Having  done  this,  its  part  is  played.  Our  interest  in  it  now  is 
purely  historical. 

The  purport  of  this  history  is  to  show  how  and  why  the  inte 
rest  in  Philosophy  has  become  purely  historical.  In  this  purport 
lies  the  principal  novelty  of  the  work.  There  is  no  other  His 
tory  of  Philosophy  written  by  one  disbelieving  in  the  possibility 
of  metaphysical  certitude. 

§  II.  LIMITS  OF  THE  WORK. 

Having  explained  what  is  the  final  purpose  of  this  History, 
and  makes  it  subservient  to  the  general  History  of  Humanity 
rather  than  to  any  philosophical  system,  I  will  now  briefly  indi 
cate  the  reasons  which,  apart  from  the  limitations  of  my  own 
knowledge,  have  determined  the  selection  of  the  illustrative 
types.  Brucker,  having  no  purpose  beyond  that  of  accumulating 
materials,  includes  in  his  History  the  speculations  of  Antedilu 
vian,  Scythian,  Persian,  and  Egyptian  thinkers.  Mr.  Maurice, 
who  has  a  purpose,  also  includes  Hebrew,  Egyptian,  Hindoo, 


XXX11  INTRODUCTION. 

Chinese,  and  Persian  philosophies.*  Other  historians  vary  in 
their  limits,  upon  not  very  intelligible  grounds.  I  begin  with 
Greece,  because  in  the  history  of  Grecian  thought  all  the  epochs 
of  speculative  development  are  distinctly  traceable ;  and  as  I  write 
the  Biography  of  Philosophy,  it  is  enough  for  my  purpose  if  any 
where  I  can  find  a  distinct  filiation  of  ideas.  Rome  never  had  a 
philosophy  of  its  own ;  it  added  no  new  idea  to  the  ideas  bor 
rowed  from  Greece.  It  occupies  no  place  therefore  in  the 
development  of  Philosophy,  and  is  omitted  from  this  Biog 
raphy. 

The  omission  of  the  East,  so  commonly  believed  to  have  exer 
cised  extensive  and  profound  influence  on  Greece,  will  to  many 
readers  seem  less  excusable.  But  to  unfold  the  arguments  which 
justify  the  omission  here,  would  require  more  space  than  can  be 
spared  in  this  Introduction.  It  is  questionable  whether  the  East 
had  any  Philosophy  distinct  from  its  Religion ;  and  still  more 
questionable  whether  Greece  borrowed  its  philosophical  ideas.f 
True  it  is  that  the  Greeks  themselves  supposed  their  early  teach 
ers  to  have  drunk  at  the  Eastern  fount.  True  it  is  that  modern 
orientalists,  on  first  becoming  acquainted  with  the  doctrines  of 
the  Eastern  sages,  recognized  strong  resemblances  to  the  doc 
trines  of  the  Greeks ;  and  a  RothJ  finds  Aristotle  to  be  the  first 
independent  thinker,  all  his  predecessors  having  drawn  their 
speculations  from  the  Egyptian  ;  while  a  Gladisch§  makes  it 
quite  obvious  (to  himself)  that  the  Pythagorean  system  is  nothing 
but  an  adoption  of  the  Chinese,  the  Heraclitic  system  an  adop 
tion  of  the  Persian,  the  Eleatic  of  the  Indian,  the  Empedoclean 
of  the  Egyptian,  the  Anaxagorean  of  the  Jewish.  But  neither 
the  vague  tradition  of  the  Greeks,  nor  the  fallacious  ingenuity  of 
moderns,  weigh  heavy  in  the  scale  of  historical  criticism.  It  is 
true  that  coincidences  of  thought  are  to  be  found  between 
Grecian  and  many  other  systems ;  but  coincidences  are  no  evi- 


*  Moral  and  Metaphysical  Philosophy,  part  i.,  second  edition,  1850 :  a 
work  of  singular  fascination  and  great  ingenuity. 

1 1  have  elsewhere  stated  reasons  for  this  belief. — Edinburgh  Review,  April, 
1847,  p.  352  gg. 

%  GescJdchte  unserer  abendlandischen  Philosophic,  i.  p.  228  sq. 

§  Die  Religion  und  die  Ph'dosop)ne  in  Hirer  weltgesch.  Entwickelung . 


INTRODUCTION.  XXX111 

dence  of  direct  filiation  ;  and  he  has  studied  the  history  of  spec 
ulation  to  little  purpose  who  is  not  thoroughly  familiar  with  the 
natural  tendency  of  the  mind  to  sweep  into  the  same  tracks, 
where  others  have  been  before,  where  others  will  find  themselves 
afterwards.  Moreover,  many  of  these  coincidences,  upon  which 
historical  theories  are  based,  turn  out,  on  close  inspection,  to  be 
merely  verbal,  or  at  the  best,  approximative.  Thus  the  physical 
speculations  of  the  Greeks  often  coincide  in  expression  with  those 
of  modern  science.  Does  this  prove  that  the  moderns  borrowed 
their  science  from  the  ancients  ?  M.  Dutens  thought  so,  and  has 
written  an  erudite  but  singularly  erroneous  book  to  prove  it. 
Democritus  asserted  the  Milky  Way  to  be  only  a  cluster  of  stars ; 
but  the  assertion  was  a  mere  guess,  wholly  without  proof,  and 
gained  no  acceptance.  It  was  Galileo  who  discovered  what  De 
mocritus  guessed.  Thus  also  Empedocles,  Pythagoras,  and  Plato, 
are  said  to  have  been  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  doctrine  of 
gravitation ;  and  this  absurdity  is  made  delusive  by  dint  of 
forced  translations,  which  elicit  something  like  coincidence  of 
expression,  although  every  competent  person  detects  the  want  of 
coincidence  in  the  ideas.* 

Waiving  all  discussion  of  disputable  and  disputed  points,  it  is 
enough  that  in  Greece  from  the  time  of  Thales,  and  in  Europe 
from  the  time  of  Descartes,  a  regular  development  of  Philosophy 
is  traceable,  quite  sufficient  for  our  purpose,  which  is  less  that  of 
narrating  the  lives  and  expounding  the  opinions  of  various  think 
ers,  than  of  showing  how  the  course  of  speculation  necessarily 
brought  about  that  radical  change  in  Method  which  distinguishes 
Philosophy  from  Science.  In  pursuance  of  such  an  aim  it  was 
perfectly  needless  to  include  any  detailed  narrative  of  the  specu 
lations  which,  under  the  name  of  Scholasticism,  occupied  the 
philosophical  activity  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Those  speculations 
were  either  subordinate  to  Theology,  or  were  only  instrumental 
in  perfecting  philosophical  language ;  and  in  this  latter  respect 
the  historian  of  Philosophy  is  no  more  called  upon  to  notice 
them,  than  a  writer  on  the  art  of  War  would  be  called  upon  to 

*  Karsten  expresses  the  distinction  well :  "  Empedocles  poetice  adumbravit 
idem  quod  totseculis  postea  mathematicis  raiionibus  demonstratum  est  a  New- 
tono.1' — Philos.  Graicorum  Operum  Reliquiae,  p.  xii. 


XXXIV  INTRODUCTION. 

give  a  history  of  tlie  armorers  of  Milan  or  the  sword-manufac 
turers  of  Toledo.  t 

The  same  principle  which  determines  the  selection  of  Epochs 
also  determines  the  selection  of  the  points  of  doctrine  to  be  ex 
pounded.  It  is  obvious  that  in  nothing  like  the  space  to  which 
this  work  is  limited  could  even  the  barest  outline  of  all  the  opin 
ions  held  by  all  the  philosophers  be  crowded  ;  nor  would  ten 
times  the  space  suffice  for  an  exposition  of  those  opinions  with 
any  thing  like  requisite  detail.  Brucker's  vast  compilation,  and 
Hitter's  laborious  volumes,  are  open  for  any  student  desirous  of 
more  detailed  knowledge;  but  even  they  are  imperfect.  'My 
purpose  is  different ;  I  write  the  Biography,  not  the  Annals  of 
Philosophy,  and  I  am  more  concerned  about  the  doctrines 
peculiar  to  each  thinker  than  about  those  held  by  him  in  com 
mon  with  others.  If  I  can  ascertain  and  make  intelligible  the 
doctrines  which  formed  the  additions  of  each  thinker  to  the  pre 
vious  stock,  and  which  helped  the  evolution  of  certain  germs  of 
philosophy,  collateral  opinions  will  need  only  such  mention  as  is 
necessary  to  make  the  whole  course  of  speculation  intelligible. 
Thus  limited  in  scope,  I  may  find  myself  more  at  ease  in  the  dis 
cussion  of  those  points  on  which  attention  should  be  fastened. 
More  space  can  be  given  to  fundamental  topics.  In  restricting 
myself  to  Descartes,  Spinoza,  and  Kant,  without  noticing  Carte 
sians,  Spinozists,  and  Kantians,  I  also  on  the  same  principle  re 
strict  myself  to  what  is  in  each  thinker  peculiar  to  him,  and 
directly  allied  to  the  course  of  philosophical  development.  The 
student  who  needs  the  Pandects  of  Philosophy  will  have  to  look 
elsewhere  :  this  work  only  pretends  to  be  a  Summary. 


FIRST  EPOCH. 
SPECULATIONS  ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  UNIVERSE. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE   PHYSICISTS. 

§  I.  THALES. 

ALTHOUGH  the  events  of  his  life,  no  less  than  the  precise  doc 
trines  of  his  philosophy,  are  shrouded  in  mystery,  and  belong  to 
the  domain  of  fable,  nevertheless  Thales  is  very  justly  considered 
as  the  father  of  Greek  Speculation.  He  made  an  epoch.  He 
laid  the  foundation-stone  of  Greek  philosophy.  The  step  he  took 
was  small,  but  it  was  decisive.  Accordingly,  although  nothing 
but  a  few  of  his  tenets  remain,  and  those  tenets  fragmentary  and 
incoherent,  we  know  enough  of  the  general  tendency  of  his  doc 
trines  to  speak  of  him  with  some  degree  of  certitude. 

Thales  was  born  at  Miletus,  a  Greek  colony  in  Asia  'Minor. 
The  date  of  his  birth  is  extremely  doubtful ;  but  the  first  year  of 
the  36th  Olympiad  (B.  c.  636)  is  generally  accepted  as  correct. 
He  belonged  to  one  of  the  most  illustrious  families  of  Phoenicia, 
and  took  a  conspicuous  part  in  all  the  political  affairs  of  his 
country, — a  part  which  earned  for  him  the  highest  esteem  of  his 
fellow-citizens.  His  immense  activity  in  politics  has  been  denied 
by  later  writers,  as  inconsistent  with  the  tradition,  countenanced 
by  Plato,  of  his  having  spent  a  life  of  solitude  and  meditation ; 
while  on  the  other  hand  his  affection  for  solitude  has  been  ques 
tioned  on  the  ground  of  his  political  activity.  It  seems  to  us 
that  the  two  things  are  perfectly  compatible.  Meditation  does 

1 


2  THE   PHYSICISTS. 

not  necessarily  unfit  a  man  for  action ;  nor  does  an  active  life 
absorb  all  his  time,  leaving  him  none  for  meditation.  The  wise 
man  will  strengthen  himself  by  meditation  before  he  acts;  and 
he  will  act,  to  test  the  truth  of  his  opinions. 

Miletus  was  one  of  the  most  flourishing  Greek  colonies ;  and 
at  the  period  we  are  now  speaking  of,  before  either  a  Persian  or  a 
Lydian  yoke  had  crushed  the  energies  of  its  population,  it  was  a 
fine  scene  for  the  development  of  mental  energies.  Its  commerce 
both  by  sea  and  land  was  immense.  Its  political  constitution 
afforded  the  finest  opportunities  for  individual  development. 
Thales  both  by  birth  and  education  would  naturally  be  fixed 
there,  and  would  not  travel  into  Egypt  and  Crete  for  the  prose 
cution  of  his  studies,  as  some  maintain,  although  upon  no  suffi 
cient  authority.  The  only  ground  for  the  conjecture  is  the  fact 
of  Thales  being  a  proficient  in  mathematical  knowledge ;  and 
from  very  early  times,  as  we  see  in  Herodotus,  it  was  the  fashion 
to  derive  the  origin  of  almost  every  branch  of  knowledge  from 
Egypt.  So  little  consistency  is  there  however  in  this  narrative 
of  his  voyages,  that  he  is  said  to  have  astonished  the  Egyptians 
by  showing  them  how  to  measure  the  height  of  their  pyramids 
by  their  shadows.  A  nation  so  easily  astonished  by  one  of  the 
simplest  of  mathematical  problems  could  have  had  little  to  teach. 
Perhaps  the  strongest  proof  that  he  never  travelled  into  Egypt — 
or  that,  if  he  travelled  there,  he  never  came  into  communication 
with  the  priests — is  the  absence  of  all  trace,  however  slight,  of 
any  Egyptian  doctrine  in  the  philosophy  of  Thales  which  he 
might  not  have  found  equally  well  at  home. 

The  distinctive  characteristic  of  the  Ionian  School,  in  its  first 
period,  was  its  inquiry  into  the  constitution  of  the  universe. 
Thales  opened  this  inquiry.  It  is  commonly  said :  "  Thales 
taught  that  the  principle  of  all  things  was  water."  On  a  first 
glance,  this  will  perhaps  appear  a  mere  extravagance.  A  smile 
of  pity  may  greet  it,  accompanied  by  a  reflection  on  the  smiler's 
part,  of  the  unlikelihood  of  his  ever  believing  such  an  absurdity. 
But  the  serious  student  will  be  slow  to  accuse  his  predecessors  of 


TIIALES.  3 

sheer  and  transparent  absurdity.  The  history  of  Philosophy 
may  be  the  history  of  errors ;  it  is  not  a  history  of  follies.  All 
the  systems  which  have  gained  acceptance  have  had  a  pregnant 
meaning,  or  they  would  not  have  been  accepted.  The  meaning 
was  proportionate  to  the  opinions  of  the  epoch,  and  as  such 
is  worth  "penetrating.  Thalcs  was  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
men  that  ever  lived,  and  produced  an  extraordinary  revolution. 
Such  a  man  was  not  likely  to  have  enunciated  a  philosophical 
thought  which  any  child  might  have  refuted.  There  was  deep 
meaning  in  the  thought,  to  him  at  least.  Above  all,  there  was  deep 
meaning  in  the  attempt  to  discover  the  origin  of  things.  Let  us 
endeavor  to  penetrate  the  meaning  of  his  thought ;  let  us  see  if 
we  cannot  in  some  shape  trace  its  rise  and  growth  in  his  mind. 

It  is  characteristic  of  philosophical  minds  to  reduce  all  im 
aginable  diversities  to  one  principle.  As  it  is  the  inevitable 
tendency  of  religious  speculation  to  reduce  polytheism  to  mon 
otheism, — to  generalize  all  the  supernatural  powers  into  one 
expression, — so  also  was  it  the  tendency  of  early  philosophical 
speculation  to  reduce  all  possible  modes  of  existence  into  one 
generalization  of  Existence  itself. 

Thales,  speculating  on  the  constitution  of  the  universe,  could 
not  but  strive  to  discover  the  one  principle — the  primary  Fact — 
the  substance,  of  which  all  special  existences  were  but  the  modes. 
Seeing  around  him  constant  transformations — birth  and  death, 
change  of  shape,  of  size,  and  of  mode  of  existence — he  could  not 
regard  any  one  of  these  variable  states  of  existence  as  Existence 
itself.  He  therefore  asked  himself,  What  is  that  invariable  Ex 
istence  of  which  these  are  the  variable  states  ?  In  a  word,  What 
is  the  beginning  of  things  ? 

To  ask  this  question  was  to  open  the  era  of  philosophical 
inquiry.  Hitherto  men  had  contented  themselves  with  accepting 
the  world  as  they  found  it ;  with  believing  what  they  saw ;  and 
with  adoring  what  they  could  not  see. 

Thales  felt  that  there  was  a  vital  question  to  be  answered 
relative  to  the  beginning  of  things.  He  looked  around  him,  and 


4  THE    PHYSICISTS. 

the  result  of  his  meditation  was  the  conviction  that  Moisture  was 
the  Beginning. 

He  was  impressed  with  this  idea  by  examining  the  constitution 
of  the  earth.  There  also  he  found  moisture  everywhere.  All 
things  he  found  nourished  by  moisture;  warmth  itself  he 
declared  to  proceed  from  moisture ;  the  seeds  of  all  things  are 
moist.  Water  when  condensed  becomes  earth.  Thus  convinced 
of  the  universal  presence  of  water,  he  declared  it  to  be  the 
beginning  of  things. 

Thales  would  all  the  more  readily  adopt  this  notion  from 
its  harmonizing  with  ancient  opinions;  such  for  instance  as 
those  expressed  in  Hesiod's  Theogony,  wherein  Oceanus  and 
Thetis  are  regarded  as  the  parents  of  all  such  deities  as  had  any 
relation  to  Nature.  "He  would  thus  have  performed  for  the 
popular  religion  that  which  modern  science  has  performed  for 
the  Book  of  Genesis :  explaining  what  was  before  enigmatical."* 

It  is  this  which  gives  Thales  his  position  in  Philosophy. 
Aristotle  calls  him  6  <r%  Toia'jTr^  ap^voj  (piXotfopia^,  the  man 
who  made  the  first  attempt  to  establi^c  a  physical  Beginning, 
without  the  assistance  of  myths.  He  has  consequently  been 
accused  of  Atheism  by  modern  writers ;  but  Atheism  is  the 
growth  of  a  much  later  thought,  and  one  under  no  pretence  to 
be  attributed  to  Thales,  except  on  the  negative  evidence  of 
Aristotle's  silence,  which  we  conceive  to  be  directly  counter 
to  the  supposition,  since  it  is  difficult  to  believe  Aristotle 
would  have  been  silent  had  he  thought  Thales  believed  or  disbe 
lieved  in  the  existence  of  any  thing  deeper  than  Water,  and  prior 
to  it.  Water  was  the  dpp£>j,  the  beginning  of  all.  When  Cicero, 
following  and  followed  by  writers  far  removed  from  the  times  of 
Thales, f  says  that  he  "held  water  to  be  the  beginning  of  things, 
but  that  God  was  the  mind  which  created  things  out  of  the 
water,"  he  does  violence  to  the  chronology  of  speculation.  We 

*  Benj.  Constant,  Du,  Polythelsme  Itomain,  i.  167. 

t  And  uncritically  followed  by  many  moderns  who  feel  a  dilficulty  in 
placing  themselves  at  the  point  of  view  of  ancient  speculation. 


ANAXIMENES.  O 

agree  with  Hegel  that  Thales  could  have  had  no  conception  of 
God  as  Intelligence,  since  that  is  the  conception  of  a  more 
advanced  philosophy.  We  doubt  whether  we  had  any  concep 
tion  of  a  Formative  Intelligence  or  of  a  Creative  Power.  Aris 
totle*  very  explicitly  denies  that  the  old  Physicists  made  any 
distinction  between  Matter  (»j  uXrj  -x.au  <ro  uflroxgffxsvov)  and  the 
Moving  Principle  or  Efficient  Cause  (?j  app^O  f^is  xivTjtfswj)  ;  and  he 
further  adds  that  Anaxagoras  was  the  first  who  arrived  at  a  con 
ception  of  a  Formative  Intelligence.!  Thales  believed  in  the  Gods 
and  in  the  generation  of  the  Gods :  they,  as  all  other  things,  had 
their  origin  in  water.  This  is  not  Atheism,  whatever  else  it  may  be. 
If  it  be  true  that  he  held  all  things  to  be  living,  and  the  world  to 
be  full  of  demons  or  Gods,  there  is  nothing  inconsistent  in  this 
with  his  views  about  Moisture  as  the  origin,  the  starting-point, 
the  primary  existence. 

It  is  needless  however  to  discuss  what  were  the  particular 
opinions  of  a  thinker  whose  opinions  have  only  reached  us  in 
fragments  of  uncritical  tradition;  all  we  certainly  know  is  that 
the  step  taken  by  Thales  was  twofold  in  its  influence :— first,  to 
discover  the  Beginning,  the  prima  materia  of  all  things  (y  ap/rj) ; 
secondly,  to  select  from  among  the  elements  that  element  which 
was  most  potent  and  omnipresent.  To  those  acquainted  with 
the  history  of  the  human  mind,  both  these  notions  will  be  sig 
nificant  of  an  entirely  new  era. 

§  II.  ANAXIMENES. 

Anaximander  is  by  most  historians  placed  after  Thales.  We 
agree  with  Hitter  in  giving  that  place  to  Anaximenes.  The 
reasons  on  which  we  ground  this  arrangement  are,  first,  that  in 
so  doing  we  fqllow  our  safest  guide,  Aristotle ;  secondly,  that  the 
doctrines  of  Anaximenes  are  the  development  of  those  of  Thales; 
whereas  Anaximander  follows  a  totally  different  line  of  specula 
tion.  Indeed,  the  whole  ordinary  arrangement  of  the  Ionian 

*  Arist.  Metaph.  i.  3. 

t  It  will  presently  be  seen  that  Diogenes  was  the  first  to  conceive  this. 


6  THE    PHYSICISTS. 

School  seems  to  have  proceeded  on  the  conviction  that  each  dis 
ciple  not  only  contradicted  his  master,  but  also  returned  to  the 
doctrines  of  his  master's  teacher.  Thus  Anaximander  is  made  to 
succeed  Thales,  though  quite  opposed  to  him ;  whereas  Anax- 
imenes,  who  only  carries  out  the  principles  of  Thales,  is  made  the 
disciple  of  Anaximander.  When  we  state  that  212  years,  i.  e. 
six  or  seven  generations,  are  taken  up  by  the  lives  of  the  four 
individuals  said  to  stand  in  the  successive  relations  of  teacher  and 
pupil,  Thales,  Anaximander,  Anaximenes,  and  Anaxagoras,  the 
reader  will  be  able  to  estimate  the  value  of  the  traditional  rela 
tionship. 

The  truth  is,  only  the  names  of  the  great  leaders  in  philosophy 
were  thought  worth  preserving ;  all  those  who  merely  applied  or 
extended  the  doctrine  were  very  properly  consigned  to  oblivion. 
This  is  also  the  principle  upon  which  the  present  history  is  com 
posed.  No  one  will  therefore  demur  to  our  placing  Anaximenes 
second  to  Thales :  not  as  his  disciple,  but  as  his  historical  suc 
cessor  ;  as  the  man  who,  taking  up  the  speculation  where  Thales 
and  his  disciples  left  it,  transmitted  it  to  his  successors  in  a  more 
developed  form. 

Of  the  life  of  Anaximenes  nothing  further  is  known  than  that 
he  was  born  at  Miletus,  probably  in  the  63d  Olympiad  (B.  c.  529), 
others  say  in  the  58th  Olympiad  (B.  c.  548),  but  there  is  no  pos 
sibility  of  accurately  fixing  the  date.  He  is  said  to  have  discov 
ered  the  obliquity  of  the  Ecliptic  by  means  of  the  gnomon. 

Pursuing  the  method  of  Thales,  he  could  not  satisfy  himself 
of  the  truth  of  his  doctrine.  Water  was  not  to  him  the  most 
significant  element.  He  felt  within  him  a  something  which 
moved  him  he  knew  not  how,  he  knew  not  why ;  something 
higher  than  himself;  invisible,  but  ever-present :  this  he  called 
his  life.  His  life  he  believed  to  be  air.  Was  there  not  also 
without  him,  no  less  than  within  him,  an  ever-moving,  ever- 
present,  invisible  air?  The  air  which  was  within  him,  and  which 
he  called  Life,  was  it  not  a  part  of  the  air  which  was  without 
him?  and,  if  so,  was  not  this  air  the  Beginning  of  things? 


DIOGENES    OF   APOLLONIA.  7 

He  looked  around  him  and  thought  his  conjecture  was  con 
firmed.  The  air  seemed  universal.*  The  earth  was  as  a  broad 
leaf  resting  upon  it.  All  things  were  produced  from  it ;  all  things 
were  resolved  into  it.  When  he  breathed,  he  drew  in  a  part  of 
the  universal  life.  All  tilings  were  nourished  by  air,  as  he  was 
nourished  by  it. 

To  Anaximencs,  as  to  most  of  the  ancients,  Air  breathed  and 
expired  seemed  the  very  stream  of  life,  holding  together  all  the 
heterogeneous  substances  of  which  the  body  was  composed,  giving 
them  not  only  unity,  but  force,  vitality.  The  belief  in  a  living 
world — that  is  to  say,  of  the  universe  as  an  organism — was  very 
ancient,  and  Anaximenes,  generalizing  from  the  phenomena  of 
individual  life  to  universal  life,  made  both  dependent  on  Air.  In 
many  respects  this  was  an  advance  on  the  doctrine  of  Thales, 
and  the  reader  may  amuse  himself  by  finding  its  coincidence  with 
some  speculations  of  modern  science.  A  grave  chemist  like 
Dumas  can  say,  "Les  Plantes  et  les  Animaux  derivent  de  Fair, 
ne  sont  que  de  1'air  condense,  ils  viennent  de  Pair  et  y  retournent ;" 
and  Liebig,  in  a  well-known  passage  of  the  Chemical  Letters,  elo 
quently  expresses  the  same  idea. 

§  III.  DIOGENES  OF  APOLLONIA. 

Diogenes  of  Apollonia  is  the  proper  successor  to  Anaximenes, 
although,  from  the  uncritical  arrangement  usually  adopted,  he  is 
made  to  represent  no  epoch  whatever.  Thus,  Tennemann  places 
him  after  Pythagoras.  Hegel,  by  a  strange  oversight,  says  that 
we  know  nothing  of  Diogenes  but  the  name. 

Diogenes  was  born  at  Apollonia,  in  Crete.  More  than  this 
we  are  unable  to  state  with  certainty ;  but  as  he  is  said  to  have 
been  a  contemporary  of  Anaxagoras,  we  may  assume  him  to  have 
flourished  about  the  80th  Olympiad  (B.  c.  460).  His  work  On 

*  When  Anaximenes  speaks  of  Air,  as  when  Thales  speaks  of  Water,  we 
must  not  understand  these  elements  as  they  appear  in  this  or  that  deter 
minate  form  on  earth,  but  as  Water  and  Air  pregnant  with  vital  energy  and 
capable  of  infinite  transmutations. 


8  THE    PHYSICISTS. 

Nature  was  extant  in  the  time  of  Simplicius  (the  sixth  century 
of  our  era),  who  extracted  some  passages  from  it. 

Diogenes  adopted  the  tenet  of  Anaximenes  respecting  Air  as 
the  origin  of  things ;  but  he  gave  a  wider  and  deeper  significa 
tion  to  the  tenet  by  attaching  himself  more  to  its  analogy  with 
the  Soul.*  Struck  with  the  force  of  this  analogy,  he  was  led  to 
push  the  conclusion  to  its  ultimate  limits.  What  is  it,  he  may 
have  asked  himself,  which  constitutes  Air  the  origin  of  things  ? 
Clearly  its  vital  force.  The  air  is  a  Soul ;  therefore  it  is  living 
and  intelligent.  But  this  Force  or  Intelligence  is  a  higher  thing 
than  the  Air,  through  which  it  manifests  itself;  it  must  conse 
quently  be  prior  in  point  of  time ;  it  must  be  the  ap^  philoso 
phers  have  sought.  The  Universe  is  a  living  being,  spontaneously 
evolving  itself,  deriving  its  transformation  from  its  own  vitality. 

There  are  two  remarkable  points  in  this  conception,  both  in 
dicative  of  very  great  progress  in  speculation.  The  first  is  the 
attribute  of  Intelligence,  with  which  the  ctp^»j  is  endowed.  Anax 
imenes  considered  the  primary  substance  to  be  an  animated 
substance.  Air  was  Life,  in  his  system,  but  the  Life  did  not 
necessarily  imply  Intelligence.  Diogenes  saw  that  Life  was  not 
only  Force,  but  Intelligence ;  the  air  which  stirred  within  him 
not  only  prompted,  but  instructed.  The  Air,  as  the  origin  of  all 
things,  is  necessarily  an  eternal,  imperishable  substance ;  but  as 
soul,  it  is  also  necessarily  endowed  with  consciousness.  "  It  knows 
much,"  and  this  knowledge  is  another  proof  of  its  being  the  pri 
mary  substance  ;  "  for  without  Reason,"  he  says,  "  it  would  be 
impossible  for  all  to  be  arranged  duly  and  proportionately ;  and 
whatever  object  we  consider  will  be  found  to  be  arranged  and 
ordered  in  the  best  and  most  beautiful  manner."  Order  can  re 
sult  only  from  Intelligence ;  the  Soul  is  therefore  the  first  (apx*/)- 
This  conception  was  undoubtedly  a  great  one ;  but  that  the 


*  By  Soul  ($vx>'i)  we  must  understand  Life  in  its  most  general  meaning, 
rather  than  Mind  in  the  modern  sense.  Thus  the  treatise  of  Aristotle  ncpl 
t//ux??s  is  a  treatise  on  the  Vital  Principle,  including  Mind,  not  a  treatise  on 
Psychology. 


DIOGENES    OF  APOLLONIA.  9 

reader  may  not  exaggerate  its  importance,  nor  suppose  that  the 
rest  of  Diogenes'  doctrines  were  equally  reasonable  and  profound, 
we  must  for  the  sake  of  preserving  historical  truth  advert  to  one 
or  two  of  his  applications  of  the  conception.  Thus  : 

The  world,  as  a  living  unity,  must  like  other  individuals  derive 
its  vital  force  from  the  Whole :  hence  he  attributed  to  the  world 
a  set  of  respiratory  organs,  which  he  fancied  he  discovered  in  the 
stars.  All  creation  and  all  material  action  were  but  respiration 
and  exhalation.  In  the  attraction  of  moisture  to  the  sun,  in  the 
attraction  of  iron  to  the  magnet,  he  equally  saw  a  process  of  res 
piration.  Man  is  superior  to  brutes  in  intelligence  because  he 
inhales  a  purer  air  than  brutes  who  bow  their  heads  to  the 
ground. 

These  naive  attempts  at  the  explanation  of  phenomena  will 
suffice  to  show  that  although  Diogenes  had  made  a  large  stride, 
he.  had  accomplished  very  little  of  the  journey. 

The  second  remarkable  point  indicated  by  his  system  is  the 
manner  in  which  it  closes  the  inquiry  opened  by  Thales.  Thales, 
starting  from  the  conviction  that  one  of  the  four  elements  was 
the  origin  of  the  world,  and  Water  that  element,  was  followed 
by  Anaximenes,  who  thought  that  not  only  was  Air  a  more  uni 
versal  element  than  Water,  but  that,  being  life,  it  must  be  the 
universal  Life.  To  him  succeeded  Diogenes,  who  saw  that  not 
only  was  Air  Life,  but  Intelligence,  and  that  Intelligence  must 
have  been  the  First  of  Things. 

We  concur  therefore  with  Ritter  in  regarding  Diogenes  as  the 
last  philosopher  attached  to  the  Physical  method ;  and  that  in 
his  system  the  method  receives  its  consummation.  Having  thus 
traced  one  great  line  of  speculation,  we  must  now  cast  our  eyes 
upon  what  was  being  contemporaneously  evolved  in  another  di 
rection. 


CHAPTER  II. 
THE    MATHEMATICIANS. 

§  I.  ANAXIMANDER  OF  MILETUS. 

"  As  we  now,  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  Greek  Philos 
ophy,  meet  with  contemporaneous  developments,  the  observa 
tion  will  not  perhaps  be  deemed  superfluous  that  in  the  earliest 
times  of  philosophy,  historical  evidences  of  the  reciprocal  influ 
ence  of  the  two  lines  either  entirely  fail  or  are  very  unworthy  of 
credit ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  internal  evidence  is  of  very  limit 
ed  value,  because  it  is  impossible  to  prove  a  complete  ignorance 
iu  one,  of  the  ideas  evolved  and  carried  out  in  the  other ;  while 
any  argument  drawn  from  an  apparent  acquaintance  therewith 
is  far  from  being  extensive  or  tenable,  since  all  the  olden  philos 
ophers  drew  from  one  common  source — the  national  habit  of 
thought.  When  indeed  these  two  directions  had  been  more 
largely  pursued,  we  shall  find  in  the  controversial  notices  suffi 
cient  evidence  of  an  active  conflict  between  these  very  opposite 
views  of  nature  and  the  universe.  In  truth,  when  we  call  to 
mind  the  inadequate  means  at  the  command  of  the  earlier  philos 
ophers  for  the  dissemination  of  their  opinions,  it  appears  ex 
tremely  probable  that  their  respective  systems  were  for  a  long 
time  known  only  within  a  very  narrow  circle.  On  the  supposi 
tion,  however,  that  the  philosophical  impulse  of  these  times  was 
the  result  of  a  real  national  want,  it  becomes  at  once  probable 
that  the  various  elements  began  to  show  themselves  in  Ionia 
nearly  at  the  same  time,  independently  and  without  any  external 
connection.1'* 

*  Kilter,  i.  965. 


ANAXIMANDER   OF   MILETUS.  11 

The  chief  of  the  school  we  are  now  about  to  consider  was 
Anaximander  of  Miletus,  whose  birth  may  be  dated  in  the  42d 
Olympiad  (B.  c.  610).  .  He  is  sometimes  called  the  friend  and 
sometimes  the  disciple  of  Thales.  We  prefer  the  former  rela 
tion  ;  the  latter  is  at  any  rate  not  the  one  in  which  this  history 
can  regard  him.  His  reputation,  both  for  political  and  scien 
tific  knowledge,  was  very  great ;  and  many  important  inven 
tions  are  ascribed  to  him,  amongst  others  that  of  the  sun-dial 
and  the  sketch  of  a  geographical  map.  His  calculations  of  the 
size  and  distance  of  the  heavenly  bodies  were  committed  to  wri 
ting  in  a  small  work,  which  is  said  to  be  the  earliest  of  all  philo 
sophical  writings.  He  was  passionately  addicted  to  mathema 
tics,  and  framed  a  series  of  geometrical  problems.  He  was  the 
leader  of  a  colony  to  Apollonia;  and  he  is  also  reported  to 
have  resided  at  the  court  of  the  tyrant  Polycrates,  in  Samos, 
where  also  lived  Pythagoras  and  Anacreon. 

No  two  historians  are  agreed  in  their  interpretation  of  Anaxi- 
mander's  doctrines ;  few  indeed  are  agreed  as  to  the  historical 
position  he  is  to  occupy. 

Anaximander  is  stated  to  have  been  the  first  to  use  the  term 
apX*)  for  the  Beginning  of  things.  What  he  meant  by  this 
term  principle  is  variously  interpreted  by  the  ancient  writers ; 
for,  although  they  are  unanimous  in  stating  that  he  called  it  the 
infinite  (TO  atfsipov),  what  he  understood  by  the  infinite  is  yet 
undecided.* 

On  a  first  view,  nothing  can  well  be  less  intelligible  than  this 
tenet :  "  The  Infinite  is  the  origin  of  all  thino-s."  It  either  looks 

O  O 

like  the  monotheism  of  a  far  later  date,f  or  like  the  word-jug 
glery  of  mysticism.     To  our  minds  it  is  neither  more  nor  less 


*  Ritter,  i.  267. 

t  "Which  it  certainly  could  not  have  been.  To  prevent  any  misconcep 
tion  of  the  kind,  we  may  merely  observe  that  the  Infinite  here  meant,  was 
not  even  the  Limitless  Power,  much  less  the  Limitless  Mind,  implied  in  the 
modern  conception.  In  Anuxagoras,  who  lived  a  century  later,  we  find  TO 
arcipov  to  be  no  more  than  vastness.— See  Simplicius,  Phys.  33,  b,  quoted  in 
Kitter, 


12  THE   MATHEMATICIANS. 

difficult  of  comprehension  than  the  tenet  of  Thales,  that  "  Water 
is  the  origin  of  all  things."  Let  us  cast  ourselves  back  in  imagi 
nation  into  those  early  days,  and  see  if  we  cannot  account  for  the 
rise  of  such  an  opinion. 

On  viewing  Anaximander  side  by  side  with  his  great  prede 
cessor  and  friend,  Thales,  we  cannot  but  be  struck  with  the  ex 
clusively  abstract  tendency  of  his  speculations.  Instead  of  the 
meditative  Metaphysician,  we  see  a  Geometrician.  Thales,  whose 
famous  maxim,  "  Know  thyself,"  was  essentially  concrete,  may 
serve  as  a  contrast  to  Anaximander,  whose  axiom,  "  The  Infinite 
is  the  origin  of  all  things,"  is  the  ultimate  effort  of  abstraction. 
Let  us  concede  to  him  this  tendency ;  let  us  see  in  him  the  geo 
metrician  rather  than  the  moralist  or  physicist ;  let  us  endeavor 
to  understand  how  all  things  presented  themselves  to  his  mind 
in  the  abstract  form,  and  how  mathematics  was  the  science  of 
sciences,  and  we  shall  then  perhaps  be  able  to  understand  his 
tenets. 

Thales,  in  searching  for  the  origin  of  things,  was  led,  as  we 
have  seen,  to  maintain  water  to  be  that  origin.  But  Anaxi 
mander,  accustomed  to  view  things  in  the  abstract,  could  not 
accept  so  concrete  a  thing  as  Water :  something  more  ultimate 
in  the  analysis  was  required.  Water  itself,  which  in  common 
with  Thales,  he  held  to  be  the  material  of  the  universe,  was  it 
not  subject  to  conditions  ?  What  were  those  conditions  ?  This 
Moisture,  of  which  all  things  are  made,  does  it  not  cease  to  be 
moisture  in  many  instances?  And  can  that  which  is  the  origin 
of  all,  ever  change,  ever  be  confounded  with  individual  things? 
Water  itself  is  a  thing;  but  a  Thing  cannot  be  All  Things. 

These  objections  to  the  doctrine  of  Thales  caused  him  to  re 
ject,  or  rather  to  modify,  that  doctrine.  The  ctp^rj,  he  said,  was 
not  Water;  it  must  be  the  Unlimited  All,  TO  cwrtjpov. 

Vague  and  profitless  enough  this  theory  will  doubtless  appear. 
The  abstraction  "All"  will  seem  a  mere  distinction  in  words. 
But  in  Greek  Philosophy,  as  we  shall  repeatedly  notice,  distinc 
tions  in  words  were  generally  equivalent  to  distinctions  in  things. 


AX AXIM ANDES    OF    MILETUS.  13 

And  if  the  reader  reflects  how  the  mathematician,  by  the  very 
nature  of  his  science,  is  led  to  regard  abstractions  as  entities, — 
to  separate  form,  and  treat  of  it  as  if  it  alone  constituted  body, — 
there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  conceiving  Anaximander's  distinc 
tion  between  all  Finite  Things  and  the  Infinite  All. 

It  is  thus  only  we  can  explain  his  tenet ;  and  this  explanation 
seems  borne  out  by  the  testimony  of  Aristotle  and  Theophrastus, 
who  agree,  that  by  the  Infinite  he  understood  the  multitude  of 
elementary  parts  out  of  which  individual  things  issued  by  sepa 
ration.  "  By  separation  :"  the  phrase  is  significant.  It  means 
the  passage  from  the  abstract  to  the  concrete, — the  All  realizing 
itself  in  the  Individual  Thing.  Call  the  Infinite  by  the  name  of 
Existence,  and  say,  "  There  is  existence  per  se,  and  Existence  per 
aliud  ;  the  former  is  Existence,  the  ever-living  fountain  whence 
flow  the  various  existing  Things"  In  this  way  we  may,  perhaps, 
make  Anaximander's  meaning  intelligible. 

Let  us  now  hear  Ritter.  Anaximander  "  is  represented  as  ar 
guing  that  the  primary  substance  must  have  been  infinite  to  be 
all-sufficient  for  the  limitless  variety  of  produced  things  with 
which  we  are  encompassed.  Now,  although  Aristotle  especially 
characterizes  this  infinite  as  a  mixture,  we  must  not  think  of  it 
as  a  mere  multiplicity  of  primary  material  elements;  for  to  the 
mind  of  Anaximander  it  was  a  Unity  immortal  and  imperishable 
— an  ever-producing  energy.  This  production  of  individual 
things  he  derived  from  an  eternal  motion  of  the  Infinite."" 

The  primary  Being,  according  to  Anaximander,  is  unquestion 
ably  a  Unity.  It  is  One  yet  All.  It  comprises  within  itself  the 
multiplicity  of  elements  from  which  all  mundane  things  are  com 
posed  ;  and  these  elements  only  need  to  be  separated  from  it  to 
appear  as  separate  phenomena  of  nature.  Creation  is  the  de 
composition  of  the  Infinite.  How  does  this  decomposition  origi 
nate?  By  tire  eternal  motion  which  is  the  condition  of  the 
Infinite.  "He  regarded,"  says  Hitter,  "the  Infinite  as  being  in 
a  constant  state  of  incipiency,  which,  however,  is  nothing  but 
a  constant  secretion  and  concretion  of  certain  immutable  ele- 


14  THE    MATHEMATICIANS. 

ments ;  so  that  we  might  well  say,  the  parts  of  the  whole  are 
constantly  changing,  while  the  whole  is  unchangeable." 

The  idea  of  elevating  an  abstraction  into  a  Being — the  origin 
of  all  things — is  baseless  enough ;  it  is  as  if  we  were  to  say, 
"There  are  numbers  1,  2,  3,  20,  80,  100;  but  there  is  also 
Number  in  the  abstract,  of  which  these  individual  numbers  are 
but  the  concrete  realization :  without  Number  there  will  be  no 
numbers."  Yet  so  difficult  is  it  for  the  human  mind  to  divest 
itself  of  its  own  abstractions,  and  to  consider  them  as  no  more 
than  as  abstractions,  that  this  error  lies  at  the  root  of  the  majority 
of  philosophical  systems.  It  may  help  the  reader  to  some  tole 
rance  of  Anaximander's  error  to  learn  that  celebrated  philoso 
phers  of  modern  times,  Hegel  and  others,  have  maintained  pre 
cisely  the  same  tenet,  though  somewhat  differently  worded: 
they  say,  that  Creation  is  God  passing  into  activity,  but  not  ex 
hausted  by  the  act ;  in  other  words,  Creation  is  the  mundane 
existence  of  God  ;  finite  Things  are  but  the  eternal  motion,  the 
manifestation  of  the  All. 

Anaximander  separated  himself  from  Thales  by  regarding  the 
^abstract  as  of  higher  significance  than  the  concrete :  and  in  this 
tendency  we  see  the  origin  of  the  Pythagorean  school,  so  often 
called  the  mathematical  school.  The  speculations  of  Thales  tend 
ed  towards  discovering  the  material  constitution  of  the  universe ; 
they  were  founded,  in  some  degree,  upon  an  induction  from  ob 
served  facts,  however  imperfect  that  induction  might  be.  The 
speculations  of  Anaximander  were  ivkolly  deductive;  and,  as 
such,  tended  towards  mathematics,  the  science  of  pure  deduction. 

As  an  example  of  this  mathematical  tendency  we  may  allude 
to  his  physical  speculations.  The  central  point  in  his  cosmo- 
preia  was  the  earth ;  for,  being  of  a  cylindrical  form,  with  a  base 
in  the  ratio  1  :  3  to  its  altitude,  it  was  retained  in  its  centre  by 
the  aid  and  by  the  equality  of  its  distances  from  all  the  limits 
of  the  world. 

From  the  foregoing  exposition  the  Reader  may  judge  of  the 
propriety  of  that  ordinary  historical  arrangement  which  places 


PYTHAGOKAS.  15 

Anaximander  as  the  successor  of  Thales.  It  is  clear  that  he 
originated  one  of  the  great  lines  of  speculative  inquiry,  and  that 
one,  perhaps,  the  most  curious  in  all  antiquity.  By  Thales, 
Water,  the  origin  of  things,  was  held  to  be  a  real  physical  ele 
ment,  which  in  the  hands  of  his  successors  became  gradually 
transformed  into  a  merely  representative  emblem  of  something 
wholly  different  (Life  or  Mind) ;  and  the  element  which  lent  its 
name  as  the  representative  was  looked  upon  as  a  secondary 
phenomenon,  derived  from  that  primary  force  of  which  it  was  the 
emblem.  Water  was  the  real  primary  element  with  Thales ;  with 
Diogenes,  Water  (having  previously  been  displaced  for  Air)  was 
but  the  emblem  of  Mind.  Anaximander's  conception  of  the  All, 
though  abstract,  is  nevertheless  to  a  great  degree  physical :  it  is 
All  Things.  His  conception  of  the  Infinite  was  not  ideal;  it 
had  not  passed  into  the  state  of  a  symbol ;  it  was  the  mere  de 
scription  of  the  primary  fact  of  existence.  Above  all,  it  involved 
no  conception  of  intelligence  except  as  a  mundane  finite  thing. 
His  TO  ctTTejpov  was  the  Infinite  Existence,  but  not  the  Infinite 
Mind.  This  later  development  we  shall  meet  with  hereafter  in 
the  Eleatics. 

§  II.  PYTHAGORAS. 

The  life  of  Pythagoras  is  enshrouded  in  the  dim  magnificence 
of  legends,  from  which  the  attempt  to  extricate  is  hopeless.  Cer 
tain  general  indications  are  doubtless  to  be  trusted ;  but  they  are 
few  and  vague. 

As  a  specimen  of  the  trouble  necessary  to  settle  any  one  point 
in  this  biography,  we  will  here  cite  the  various  dates  given  by 
ancient  authors  and  modern  scholars  as  the  results  of  their  in 
quiries  into  his  birth.  Diodorus  Siculus  says  61st  Olympiad ; 
Clemens  Alex.,  62d  01.;  Eusebius,  63d  or  64th  Ol. ;  Stanely, 
53d  01.;  Gale,  60th  01.;  Dacier,  47th  Ol. ;  Bentley,  43d  01.; 
Lloyd,  43d  01.;  Dodwell,  52d  01. ;  Ritter,  49th  Ol. ;  Thirl- 
wall,  51st  01. :  so  that  the  accounts  vary  within  the  limits  of 
eighty-four  years.  If  we  must  make  a  choice,  we  should  decide 


16  THE   MATHEMATICIANS. 

with  Bentley  ;  not  only  from  respect  for  that  magnificent  scholar, 
but  because  it  agrees  with  the  probable  date  of  the  birth  of  one 
known  to  have  been  Pythagoras's  friend  and  contemporary,  Anaxi- 
mander. 

Pythagoras  is  usually  classed  amongst  the  great  founders  of 
Mathematics ;  and  this  receives  confirmation  from  what  we  know 
of  the  general  scope  of  his  labors,  and  from  the  statement  that 
he  was  chiefly  occupied  with  the  determination  of  extension  and 
gravity,  and  measuring  the  ratios  of  musical  tones.  His  science 
and  skill  are  of  course  absurdly  exaggerated,  as  indeed  is  every 
portion  of  his  life.  Fable  assigns  him  the  place  of  a  saint,  a 
worker  of  miracles,  and  a  teacher  of  more  than  human  wisdom. 
His  very  birth  was  marvellous,  some  accounts  making  him  the 
son  of  Hermes,  others  of  Apollo  :  in  proof  of  the  latter,  he  is 
said  to  have  exhibited  a  golden  thigh.  With  a  word  he  tamed 
the  Daunian  bear,  which  was  laying  waste  the  country ;  with  a 
whisper  he  restrained  an  ox  from  devouring  beans.  He  was 
heard  to  lecture  at  different  places,  such  as  Metapontum  and 
Taurominium,  on  the  same  day  and  at  the  same  hour.  As  he 
crossed  the  river,  the  river-god  saluted  him  with  "Hail,  Pythag 
oras  !"  and  to  him  the  harmony  of  the  Spheres  was  audible 
music. 

Fable  enshrines  these  wonders.  But  that  they  could  exist, 
even  as  legendary  lore,  is  significant  of  the  greatness  of  Pythag 
oras.  It  is  well  said  by  Sir  Lytton  Bulwer  that  "  not  only  all 
the  traditions  respecting  Pythagoras,  but  the  certain  fact  of  the 
mighty  effect  that  in  his  single  person  he  afterwards  wrought  in 
Italy,  prove  him  also  to  have  possessed  that  nameless  art  of  mak 
ing  a  personal  impression  upon  mankind,  and  creating  individual 
enthusiasm,  which  is  necessary  to  those  who  obtain  a  moral 
command,  and  are  the  founders  of  sects  and  institutions.  It  is 
so  much  in  conformity  with  the  manners  of  the  time  and  the 
objects  of  Pythagoras,  to  believe  that  he  diligently  explored  the 
ancient  religious  and  political  systems  of  Greece,  from  which  he 
had  been  long  a  stranger,  that  we  cannot  reject  the  traditions 


PYTHAGORAS.  17 

(however  disfigured  with  fable)  that  he  visited  Delos,  and  affect 
ed  to  receive  instructions  from  the  pious  ministrants  of  Delphi."* 
It  is  no  ordinary  man  whom  Fable  exalts  into  its  poetical  region. 
Whenever  you  find  romantic  or  miraculous  deeds  attributed,  be 
certain  that  the  hero  was  great  enough  to  sustain  the  weight  of 
this  crown  of  fabulous  glory. 

But  the  fact  thus  indicated  is  a  refutation  of  the  ordinary  tra 
dition  of  his  having  borrowed  all  his  learning  and  philosophy 
from  the  East.  Could  not  so  great  a  man  dispense  with  foreign 
teachers  ?  Assuredly  he  could,  and  did.  But  his  countrymen, 
by  a  very  natural  process  of  thought,  looked  upon  his  greatness 
as  the  result  of  his  Eastern  education.  No  man  is  a  prophet  in 
his  own  country ;  and  the  imaginative  Greeks  were  peculiarly 
prone  to  invest  the  distant  and  the  foreign  with  striking  attributes. 
They  could  not  believe  in  wisdom  springing  up  from  amongst 
them  5  they  turned  to  the  East  as  to  a  vast  and  unknown  region, 
whence  all  novelty,  even  of  thought,  must  come. 

When  we  consider,  as  Hitter  observes,  how  Egypt  was  pecu 
liarly  the  wonder-land  of  the  olden  Greeks,  and  how,  even  in 
later  times,  when  it  was  so  much  better  known,  it  was  still,  as  it 
is  to  this  day,  so  caleuJated  to  excite  awe  by  the  singular  char 
acter  of  its  people,  which,  reserved  in  itself,  was  always  obtrud 
ing  on  the  observer's  attention  through  the  stupendous  struc 
tures  of  national  architecture,  we  can  easily  imagine  how  the 
Greeks  were  led  to  establish  some  connection  between  this  mighty 
East  and  their  great  Pythagoras. 

But,  although  we  can  by  no  means  believe  that  Pythagoras 
was  much  indebted  to  Egypt  for  his  doctrines,  we  are  not  skepti 
cal  as  to  the  account  of  his  having  travelled  there.  Samos  was  in 
constant  intercourse  with  Egypt.  If  Pythagoras  had  travelled 
into  Egypt,  or  indeed  listened  to  the  relations  of  those  who  had 
done  so,  he  would  have  thereby  obtained  as  much  knowledge  of 
Egyptian  customs  as  appears  in  his  system ;  and  that  without 

*  Jihen*,  its  Rise  and  Fati,  ii.  412. 


18  THE    MATHEMATICIANS. 

having  had  the  least  instruction  from  the  Priesthood.  The  doc 
trine  of  metempsychosis  was  a  public  doctrine  with  the  Egyp 
tians  ;  though,  as  Ritter  says,  he  might  not  have  been  indebted 
to  them  even  for  that.  Funeral  customs  and  abstinence  from 
particular  kinds  of  food  \vere  things  to  be  noticed  by  any  traveller. 
But  the  fundamental  objection  to  Pythagoras  having  been  in 
structed  by  the  Egyptian  Priests,  is  to  be  sought  in  the  consti 
tution  of  the  priestly  caste  itself.  If  the  priests  were  so  jealous 
of  instruction  as  not  to  bestow  it  even  on  the  most  favored  oi 
their  countrymen  unless  belonging  to  their  caste,  how  unreason 
able  to  suppose  that  they  would  bestow  it  on  a  stranger,  and  one 
of  a  different  religion  ! 

The  ancient  writers  were  sensible  of  this  objection.  To  get 
rid  of  it  they  invented  a  story  which  we  shall  give  as  it  is  given 
by  Brucker.  Polycrates  was  in  friendly  relations  with  Amasis, 
King  of  Egypt,  to  whom  he  sent  Pythagoras,  with  a  recommen 
dation  to  enable  him  to  gain  access  to  the  Priests.  The  king's 
authority  was  not  sufficient  to  prevail  on  the  Priests  to  admit  a 
stranger  to  their  mysteries :  they  referred  Pythagoras  therefore 
to  Thebes,  as  of  greater  antiquity.  The  Theban  Priests  were 
awed  by  the  royal  mandate,  but  were  loth  to  admit  a  stranger 
to  their  rites.  To  disgust  the  novice,  they  forced  him  to  undergo 
several  severe  ceremonies,  amongst  which  was  circumcision.  But 
he  could  not  be  discouraged.  He  obeyed  all  their  injunctions  with 
such  patience  that  they  resolved  to  take  him  into  their  confi 
dence.  He  spent  two-and-twenty  years  in  Egypt,  and  returned 
perfect  master  of  all  science.  This  is  not  a  bad  story  :  but  there 
is  one  objection  to  it — it  is  not  substantiated. 

To  Pythagoras  the  invention  of  the  word  Philosopher  is 
ascribed.  When  he  was  in  Peloponnesus  he  was  asked  by  Loon- 
tius,  what  was  his  art.  "  I  have  no  art ;  I  am  a  philosopher," 
was  the  reply.  Leontius  never  having  heard  the  name  before, 
asked  what  it  meant.  Pythagoras  gravely  answered,  "  This  life 
may  be  compared  to  the  Olympic  games  :  for  as  in  this  assembly 
some  seek  glory  and  the  crowns ;  some  by  the  purchase  or  by 


PYTHAGORAS.  19 

the  sale  of  merchandise  seek  gain  ;  and  others,  more  noble  than 
either,  go  there  neither  for  gain  nor  for  applause,  but  solely  to 
enjoy  this  wonderful  spectacle,  and  to  see  and  know  all  that 
passes.  We,  in  the  same  manner,  quit  our  country,  which  is 
Heaven,  and  come  into  the  world,  which  is  an  assembly  where 
many  work  for  profit,  many  for  gain,  and  where  there  are  but 
few  who,  despising  avarice  and  vanity,  study  nature.  It  is  these 
last  whom  I  call  Philosophers ;  for  as  there  is  nothing  more  noble 
than  to  be  a  spectator  without  any  personal  interest,  so  in  this 
life  the  contemplation  and  knowledge  of  nature  are  infinitely 
more  honorable  than  any  other  application."  It  is  necessary  to 
observe  that  the  ordinary  interpretation  of  Philosopher,  as  Py 
thagoras  meant  it,  a  "  lover  of  wisdom,"  is  only  accurate  where  the 
utmost  extension  is  given  to  the  word  "lover."  Wisdom  must 
be  the  rt  be-all  and  the  end-all  here"  of  the  philosopher,  and  not 
simply  a  taste  or  a  pursuit.  It  must  be  his  mistress,  to  whom  a 
life  is  devoted.  This  was  the  meaning  of  Pythagoras.  The  word 
which  had  before  designated  a  wise  man  was  tfo^oj.  But  he 
wished  to  distinguish  himself  from  the  Sophoi,  or  philosophers 
of  his  day,  by  name,  as  he  had  done  by  system.  What  was  the 
meaning  of  Sophos  ?  Unquestionably  what  we  mean  by  a  wise 
man,  as  distinct  from  a  philosopher ;  one  whose  wisdom  is  prac 
tical,  and  turned  to  practical  purposes ;  one  who  loves  wisdom 
not  for  its  own  sake  so  much  as  for  the  sake  of  its  uses.  Now 
Pythagoras  loved  wisdom  for  its  own  sake.  Contemplation  was 
to  him  the  highest  exercise  of  humanity :  to  bring  wisdom  down 
to  the  base  purposes  of  life  was  desecration.  He  called  himself 
therefore  a  Philosopher — a  Lover  of  "Wisdom — to  demarcate 
himself  from  those  who  sought  Wisdom  only  as  a  power  to  be 
used  for  ulterior  ends. 

This  interpretation  of  the  word  Philosopher  may  explain  some 
of  his  opinions.     Above  all,  it  explains  the  constitution  of  his 
Secret  Society,  into  which  no  one  was  admitted  except  after  a 
severe  initiation.     For  five  years  the  novice  was  condemned  to    • 
silence.      Many  relinquished  the   task  in   despair;    they    were 


20  THE   MATHEMATICIANS. 

unworthy  of  the  contemplation  of  pure  wisdom.  Others,  in 
whom  the  tendency  to  loquacity  was  observed  to  be  less,  had  the 
period  commuted.  Various  humiliations  had  to  be  endured ; 
various  experiments  were  made  of  their  powers  of  self-denial. 
By  these  Pythagoras  judged  whether  they  were  worldly-minded, 
or  whether  they  were  fit  to  be  admitted  into  the  sanctuary  of 
science.  Having  purged  their  souls  of  the  baser  particles  by 
purifications,  sacrifices,  and  initiations,  they  were  admitted  to  the 
sanctuary,  where  the  higher  part  of  the  soul  was  purged  by  the 
knowledge  of  truth,  which  consists  in  the  knowledge  of  imma 
terial  and  eternal  things.  For  this  purpose  he  commenced  with 
Mathematics,  because,  as  they  just  preserve  the  medium  between 
corporeal  and  incorporeal  things,  they  can  alone  draw  off  the 
mind  from  Sensible  things  and  conduct  them  to  Intelligibles. 

Shall  we  wonder,  then,  that  he  was  venerated  as  a  God  ?  He 
who  could  transcend  all  earthly  struggles,  and  the  great  am 
bitions  of  the  greatest  men,  to  live  only  for  the  sake  of  wisdom, 
was  he  not  of  a  higher  stamp  than  ordinary  mortals  ?  Well 
might  later  historians  picture  him  as  clothed  in  robes  of  white, 
his  head  crowned  with  gold,  his  aspect  grave,  majestical,  and 
calm ;  above  the  manifestation  of  any  human  joy,  of  any  human 
sorrow  ;  enwrapt  in  contemplation  of  the  deeper  mysteries  of  ex 
istence;  listening  to  music  and  the  hymns  of  Homer,  Hesoid, 
and  Thales,  or  listening  to  the  harmony  c-f  the  spheres.  And  to 
a  lively,  talkative,  quibbling,  active,  versatile  people  like  the 
Greeks,  what  a  grand  phenomenon  must  this  solemn,  earnest, 
silent,  meditative  man  have  appeared  ! 

From  Sir  Lytton  Bulwer's  Athens  we  borrow  the  following- 
account  of  the  political  career  of  Pythagoras  : — "  Pythagoras 
arrived  in  Italy  during  the  reign  of  Tarqumms  Superbus,  accord 
ing  to  the  testimony  of  Cicero  and  Aulus  Gellius,  and  fixed  his 
residence  in  Crotofl,  a  city  in  the  bay  of  Tarentum,  colonized  by 
Greeks  of  the  Achaean  tribe.  If  we  may  lend  a  partial  credit  to 
the  extravagant  fables  of  later  disciples,  endeavoring  to  extract 
from  florid  super-addition  some  original  germ  of  simple  truth,  it 


PYTHAGOKAS.  21 

would  seem  that  he  first  appeared  in  the  character  of  a  teacher 
of  youth,  and,  as  was  not  unusual  in  those  times,  soon  rose  from 
the  preceptor  to  the  legislator.  Dissensions  in  the  city  favored 
his  objects.  The  Senate  (consisting  of  a  thousand  members, 
doubtless  of  a  different  race  from  the  body  of  the  people — the 
first  the  posterity  of  the  settlers,  the  last  the  native  population) 
availed  itself  of  the  arrival  and  influence  of  an  eloquent  and  re 
nowned  philosopher.  He  lent  himself  to  the  consolidation  of 
aristocracies,  and  was  equally  inimical  to  democracy  and  tyranny. 
But  his  policy  was  that  of  no  vulgar  ambition.  He  refused,  at 
least  for  a  time,  ostensible  power  and  office,  and  was  contented 
with  instituting  an  organized  and  formidable  society,  not  wholly 
dissimilar  to  that  mighty  Order  founded  by  Loyola  in  times  com 
paratively  recent.  The  disciples  admitted  into  this  society  un 
derwent  examination  and  probation  :  it  was  throuo-h  degrees  that 
they  passed  into  its  higher  honors,  and  were  admitted  into  its 
deeper  secrets.  Religion  made  the  basis  of  the  fraternity,  but 
religion  connected  with  human  ends  of  advancement  and  power. 
He  selected  the  three  hundred  who  at  Croton  formed  his  Order, 
from  the  noblest  families,  and  they  were  professedly  reared  to 
know  themselves,  that  so  they  might  be  fitted  to  command  the 
world.  It  was  not  long  before  this  society,  of  which  Pythagoras 
was  the  head,  appears  to  have  supplanted  the  ancient  Senate  and 
obtained  the  legislative  administration.  In  this  Institution  Py 
thagoras  stands  alone  ;  no  other  founder  of  Greek  philosophy  re 
sembles  him.  By  all  accounts  he  also  differed  from  the  other 
sages  of  his  time  in  his  estimation  of  the  importance  of  women. 
He  is  said  to  have  lectured  to,  and  taught  them.  His  wife  was 
herself  a  philosopher,  and  fifteen  disciples  of  the  softer  sex  rank 
among  the  prominent  ornaments  of  his  school.  An  Order  based 
upon  so  profound  a  knowledge  of  all  that  can  fascinate  or  cheat 
mankind  could  not  fail  to  secure  a  temporary  power.  His  in 
fluence  was  unbounded  in  Croton  :  it  extended  to  other  Italian 
cities;  it  amended  or  overturned  political  constitutions;  and  had 
Pythagoras  possessed  a  more  coarse  and  personal  ambition,  he 


22  THE    MATHEMATICIANS. 

might  perhaps  have  founded  a  mighty  dynasty,  and  enriched  our 
social  annals  with  the  result  of  a  new  experiment.  But  his  was 
the  ambition  not  of  a  hero,  but  a  sage.  He  wished  rather  to 
establish  a  system  than  to  exalt  himself.  His  immediate  followers 
saw  not  all  the  consequences  that  might  be  derived  from  the 
fraternity  he  founded ;  and  the  political  designs  of  his  gorgeous 
and  august  philosophy,  only  for  awhile  successful,  left  behind 
them  but  the  mummeries  of  an  impotent  freemasonry,  and  the 
enthusiastic  ceremonies  of  half-witted  ascetics. 

"  It  was  when  this  power,  so  mystic  and  so  revolutionary,  had, 
by  the  means  of  branch  societies,  established  itself  throughout  a 
considerable  portion  of  Italy,  that  a  general  feeling  of  alarm  and 
suspicion  broke  out  against  the  sage  and  his  sectarians.  The 
anti-Pythagorean  risings,  according  to  Porphyry,  were  suffi 
ciently  numerous  and  active  to  be  remembered  long  generations 
afterwards.  Many  of  the  sage's  friends  are  said  to  have  perished, 
and  it  is  doubtful  whether  Pythagoras  himself  fell  a  victim  to  the 
rage  of  his  enemies,  or  died  a  fugitive  amongst  his  disciples  at 
Metapontum.  Nor  was  it  until  nearly  the  whole  of  Lower  Italy 
was  torn  by  convulsions,  and  Greece  herself  drawn  into  the  con 
test  as  pacificator  and  arbiter,  that  the  ferment  was  allayed.  The 
Pythagorean  institutions  were  abolished,  and  the  timocratic  de 
mocracies  of  the  Achseans  rose  upon  the  ruins  of  those  intellectual 
but  ungenial  oligarchies. 

"  Pythagoras  committed  a  fatal  error  when,  in  his  attempt  to 
revolutionize  society,  he  had  recourse  to  aristocracies  for  his 
agents.  Revolutions,  especially  those  influenced  by  religion,  can 
never  be  worked  out  but  by  popular  emotions.  It  was  from  this 
error  of  judgment  that  he  enlisted  the  people  against  him ;  for 
by  the  account  of  Neanthes,  related  by  Porphyry,  and  indeed 
from  all  other  testimony,  it  is  clearly  evident  that  to  popular 
not  party  commotion  his  fall  must  be  ascribed.  It  is  no  less 
clear  that  after  his  death,  while  his  philosophical  sect  remained, 
his  political  code  crumbled  away.  The  only  seeds  sown  by 
philosophers  which  spring  up  into  great  States,  are  those 


PHILOSOPHY  OF   PYTHAGORAS.  23 

that,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  are  planted  in  the  hearts  of  the 
Many." 

We  cannot  omit  the  story  which  so  long  amused  the  world, 
respecting  his  discovery  of  the  musical  chords.  Hearing  one  day, 
in  the  shop  of  a  blacksmith,  a  number  of  men  striking  successively 
a  piece  of  heated  iron,  he  remarked  that  all  the  hammers,  except 
one,  produced  harmonious  chords,  viz.  the  octave,  the  fifth,  and 
the  third;  but  the  sound  between  the  fifth  and  the  third  was  dis 
cordant.  On  entering  the  workshop,  he  found  the  diversity  of 
sounds  was  owing  to  the  difference  in  the  weight  of  the  hammers. 
He  took  the  exact  weights,  and  on  reaching  home  suspended  four 
strings  of  equal  dimensions,  and  hanging  a  weight  at  the  end  of 
each  of  the  strings  equal  to  the  weight  of  each  hammer,  he  struck 
the  strings,  and  found  the  sounds  correspond  with  those  of  the 
hammers.  He  then  proceeded  to  the  formation  of  a  musical  scale. 

On  this,  Dr.  Burney,  in  his  History  of  Music,  remarks :  "  Though 
both  hammers  and  anvil  have  been  swallowed  by  ancients  and 
moderns  with  most  ostrich-like  digestion,  yet  upon  examination  and 
experiment  it  appears  that  hammers  of  different  size  and  weight 
will  no  more  produce  different  tones  upon  the  same  anvil,  than 
bows  or  clappers  of  different  size  will  from  the  same  string  or  bell." 

We  close  here  our  account  of  the  life  of  Pythagoras,  reminding 
the  reader  that  one  great  reason  for  the  fabulous  and  contradic 
tory  assertions  collected  together  in  histories  and  biographies 
arises  from  the  uncritical  manner  in  which  the  "  authorities"  have 
been  used.  To  take  only  one  "  authority"  as  an  example  :  lam- 
blicus  wrote  his  Life  of  Pythagoras  with  a  view  of  combating  the 
rising  doctrine  of  Christianity,  and  of  opposing  by  implication  a 
Pagan  philosopher  to  Christ.  The  miracles  that  were  attributed 
to  Pythagoras  have  no  better  source  than  this. 

§  III.  PHILOSOPHY  OF  PYTHAGORAS. 

There  is  no  system  in  the  whole  course  of  our  history  more 
difficult  to  seize  and  represent  accurately  than  that  commonly 
known  as  the  Pythagorean.  It  has  made  prodigious  noise  in  the 


24:  THE   MATHEMATICIANS. 

world;  so  much  so  as  to  be  often  confounded  with  its  distant 
echoes.  An  air  of  mystery,  always  inviting  to  a  large  class,  sur 
rounds  it.  The  marvellous  relations  concerning  its  illustrious 
founder,  the  supposed  assimilation  it  contains  of  various  elements 
of  Eastern  speculation,  and  the  supposed  symbolical  nature  of  its 
doctrines,  have  all  equally  combined  to  render  it  attractive  and 
contradictory.  Every  dogma  in  it  has  been  traced  to  some  prior, 
philosophy.  Not  a  vestige  will  remain  to  be  called  the  property 
of  the  teacher  himself,  if  we  restore  to  the  Jews,  Indians,  Egyp 
tians,  Chaldeans,  Phoenicians,  nay  even  Thracians,  those  various 
portions  which  lie  is  declared  to  have  borrowed  from  them. 

All  this  pretended  plagiarism  we  incline  to  think  extremely 
improbable:  Pythagoras  was  a  consequence  of  Anaximander; 
and  his  doctrines,  in  as  far  as  we  can  gather  from  their  leading- 
tendency,  were  but  a  continuation  of  that  abstract  and  deductive 
philosophy  of  which  Auaxiniauder  was  the  originator. 

At  the  outset  we  must  premise,  that  whatever  interest  there 
may  be  in  following  out  the  particular  opinions  recorded  as  be 
longing  to  Pythagoras,  such  a  process  is  quite  incompatible  with 
our  plan.  The  greatest  uncertainty  still  exists,  and  must  for 
ever  exist  amongst  scholars,  respecting  the  genuineness  of  those 
opinions.  Even  such  as  are  recorded  by  trustworthy  authorities 
are  always  vaguely  attributed  by  them  to  "  the  Pythagoreans," 
not  to  Pythagoras.  Modern  criticism  has  clearly  shown  that  the 
works  attributed  to  Timseus  and  Archytas  are  spurious ;  and  that 
the  supposed  treatise  of  Ocellus  Lucanus  on  the  "  Nature  of  the 
All"  cannot  even  have  been  written  by  a  Pythagorean.  Plato 
and  Aristotle,  the  only  ancient  w?riters  who  are  to  be  trusted  in 
this  matter,  do  not  attribute  any  peculiar  doctrines  to  Pythagoras. 
The  reason  is  simple.  Pythagoras  taught  in  secret ;  and  never 
wrote.  What  he  taught  his  disciples  it  is  impossible  accurately 
to  learn  from  what  those  disciples  themselves  taught.  His  influence 
over  their  minds  was  unquestionably  immense ;  and  this  influence 
would  communicate  to  his  school  a  distinctive  tendency,  but  not 
one  accordant  doctrine ;  for  each  scholar  would  carry  out  that 


PHILOSOPHY   OF   PYTHAGORAS.  25 

tendency  in  the  direction  which  best  suited  his  tastes  and 
powers.* 

The  extreme  difficulty  of  ascertaining  accurately  what  Pythag 
oras  thought,  or  even  what  his  disciples  thought,  will  not  em 
barrass  us  if  we  can  but  ascertain  the  general  tendency  of  their 
speculations,  and,  above  all,  the  peculiarity  of  their  method. 
For  this  difficulty — which,  to  the  critical  historian  insuperable, 
only  affects  us  indirectly — renders  indeed  our  endeavor  to  seize 
the  characteristic  method  and  tendency  more  hazardous  and 
more  liable  to  contradiction ;  but  it  does  not  compel  us  to  inter 
rupt  our  march  for  the  sake  of  storming  every  individual  fortress 
of  opinion  we  may  encounter  on  our  way.  We  have  to  trace 
out  the  map  of  the  philosophical  world ;  we  must  be  careful  to 
ascertain  the  great  outlines  of  each  country  :  this  we  may  be 
enabled  to  do  without  absolutely  being  acquainted  with  the  in 
ternal  varieties  of  that  country,  for  geographers  are  not  bound 
to  be  also  geologists. 

What  were  the  method  and  tendency  of  the  Pythagorean 
school  ?  The  method,  purely  deductive  ;  the  tendency,  wholly 
towards  the  consideration  of  abstractions  as  the  only  true  ma 
terials  of  science.  Hence  the  name  not  unfrequently  given  to 
that  school,  of  "  the  Mathematical."  The  list  of  Pythagoreans 
embraces  the  greatest  names  in  mathematics  and  astronomy, — 
Archytas  and  Philolaus,  and  subsequently  Hipparchus  and 
Ptolemy.f 

*  We  assume  this  to  be  the  case  ;  but  we  do  not  assume  it  groundlessly. 
We  are  guided  by  the  striking  analogy  afforded  by  the  celebrated  Saint-Si 
mon.  Like  Pythagoras,  the  Frenchman  published  no  complete  account  of 
his  system,  lie  communicated  it  to  his  disciples  ;  and,  as  his  influence  over 
their  minds  was  almost  unparalleled,  the  tendency  of  his  philosophy  took 
deep  root,  though  producing  very  different  fruits  in  different  minds.  Those 
moderately  acquainted  witli  French  writers  will  appreciate  this  when  we 
simply  enumerate  MM.  Augustin  Thierry,  Auguste  Comte,  Pierre  Leroux, 
Michel  Chevalier,  Le  Pere  Enfantin,  and  M.  Bazard,  all  disciples  of  Saint- 
Simon. 

t  .^Eschylus,  a  disciple  of  Pythagoras,  makes  his  Titan  boast  of  having 
discovered  for  men,  Number,  the  highest  of  the  sciences  ;   Kat 
c&xov  ao^ifffudrwv.  ifcvpov  aiirotj. — Prom.,  459. 

2 


26  THE    MATHEMATICIANS. 

We  may  now  perhaps,  in  some  sort,  comprehend  what  Pythag 
oras  meant  when  he  taught  that  Numbers  were  the  principles 
of  Things :  <rou£  api^jxouV  aiVfous  sTvou  <rrts  outfiaf,*  or,  to  translate 
more  literally,  "  Numbers  are  the  cause  of  the  material  existence 
of  Things;"  outfiot  being  here  evidently  the  expression  of  concrete 
existence.  This  is  confirmed  by  the  wording  of  the  formula 
given  elsewhere  by  Aristotle,  that  Nature  is  realized  from  Num 
bers  :  c^v  (fjtfw  s£  dpi^jaojv  tfuviflVao'i.j  Or  again :  Things  are 
but  the  copies  of  Numbers :  jju'fAyjrfiv  s/vou  TO,  ov-ra  rwv  dpifyxGJv.J 
What  Pythagoras  meant  was,  that  numbers  were  the  ultimate 
nature  of  things.  Anaximander  saw  that  things  in  themselves 
are  not  final ;  they  are  constantly  changing  both  position  and 
attributes ;  they  are  variable,  and  the  principle  of  existence  must 
be  invariable  j  he  called  that  invariable  existence  THE  ALL. 

Pythagoras  saw  that  there  was  an  invariable  existence  lying 
beneath  these  varieties ;  but  he  wanted  some  more  definite  ex 
pression  for  it,  and  he  called  it  Number.  Thus  each  individual 
thing  may  change  its  position,  its  mode  of  existence ;  all  its  pe 
culiar  attributes  may  be  destroyed  except  one,  namely,  its  numer 
ical  attribute.  It  is  always  "  One"  thing;  nothing  can  destroy 
that  numerical  existence.  Combine  the  Thing  in  every  possible 
variety  of  ways,  and  it  still  remains  "  One  ;"  it  cannot  be  less  than 
"one,"  it  cannot  be  made  more  than  "one."  Resolve  it  into  its 
minutest  particles,  and  each  particle  is  one.  Having  thus 
found  that  numerical  existence  was  the  only  invariable  exist 
ence,  he  was  easily  led  to  proclaim  all  Things  to  be  but  copies 
of  Numbers.  "  All  phenomena  must  originate  in  the  simplest 
elements,"  says  Sextus  Empiricus,  "  and  it  would  be  contrary  to 
reason  to  suppose  the  Principle  of  the  Universe  to  participate  in 
the  nature  of  sensible  phenomena.  The  Princijtia  are  conse 
quently  not  only  invisible  and  intangible,  but  also  incorporeal." 

As  numerical  existence  is  the  ultimate  state  at  which  analysis 
can  arrive  with  respect  to  finite  Things,  so  also  is  it  the  ultimate 

*  Ari.stot.  Metapli.  i.  6.  t  De  Code,  iii.  1.  J  Mdcqili.  i.  6. 


PHILOSOPHY    OF     PYTHAGORAS.  27 

state  at  which  we  can  arrive  with  respect  to  the  Infinite,  or  Ex 
istence  in  itself.  The  Infinite,  therefore,  must  be  One.  One  is 
the  absolute  number;  it  exists  in  and  by  itself;  it  has  no  need 
of  any  relation  with  any  thing  else,  not  even  with  any  other 
number;  Two  is  but  the  relation  of  One  to  One.  All  modes  of 
existence  are  but  finite  aspects  of  the  Infinite ;  so  all  numbers 
are  but  numerical  relations  of  the  One.  In  the  original  One 
all  numbers  are  contained,  and  consequently  the  elements  of  the 
whole  world. 

Observe,  moreover,  that  One  is  necessarily  the  &p%ri — the  be 
ginning  of  things  so  eagerly  sought  by  philosophers,  since,  where- 
ever  you  begin,  you  must  begin  with  One.  Suppose  the  num 
ber  be  three,  and  you  strike  off  the  initial  number  to  make  two, 
the  second  then  will  be  One.  In  a  word,  One  is  the  Beginning 
of  all  things. 

The  verbal  quibble  on  which  this,  as  indeed  the  whole  system 
reposes,  need  not  excite  any  suspicion  of  the  sincerity  of  Pythag 
oras.  The  Greeks  were  unfortunately  acquainted  with  no  lan 
guage  but  their  own :  and,  as  a  natural  consequence,  mistook 
distinctions  in  language  for  distinctions  in  things.  It  has  been 
well  said  by  Dr.  Whewell,  that  "  all  the  first  attempts  to  com 
prehend  the  operations  of  Nature  led  to  the  introduction  of  ab 
stract  conceptions,  vague  indeed,  but  not  therefore  unmeaning. 
And  the  next  step  in  philosophizing  necessarily  was  to  make 
those  vague  abstractions  more  clear  and  fixed,  so  that  the  logical 
faculty  should  be  able  to  employ  them  securely  and  coherently. 
But  there  were  two  ways  of  making  this  attempt;  the  one,  by 
examining  the  words  only,  and  the  thoughts  which  they  call  up ; 
the  other,  by  attending  to  the  facts  and  things  which  bring  these 
abstract  terms  into  use.  The  Greeks  followed  the  verbal  or  no 
tional  course,  and  failed."* 

It  is  only  by  mea.ns  of  the  above  explanation  that  we  can  any 
way  credit  the  belief  in  distinctions  so  wire-drawn  as  those  of 

*  History  of  the  Inductive  Sciences,  i.  34. 


28  THE    MATHEMATICIANS. 

Pythagoras ;  it  is  only  thus  that  we  can  understand  how  he 
could  have  held  that  Numbers  were  Beings.  Aristotle  attrib 
utes  this  philosophy  to  the  fondness  of  Pythagoras  for  mathe 
matics,  which  concerns  itself  with  the  abstract,  not  with  the 
material  existence  of  sensible  things ;  but  surely  this  is  only  half 
the  explanation  ?  The  mathematicians  in  our  day  not  only  rea 
son  entirely  with  symbols,  which  stand  as  the  representatives  of 
things,  without  having  the  least  affinity  or  resemblance  to  the 
things  (being  wholly  arbitrary  marks),  but  very  many  of  these 
men  never  trouble  themselves  at  all  with  inspecting  the  things 
about  which  they  reason  by  means  of  symbols.  Much  of  the 
science  of  Astronomy  is  carried  on  by  those  who  never  use  a 
telescope ;  it  is  carried  on  by  figures  upon  paper,  and  calcula 
tions  of  those  figures.  Because,  however,  astronomers  use  num 
bers  as  symbols,  they  do  not  suppose  that  numbers  are  more 
than  symbols.  Pythagoras  was  not  able  to  make  this  distinc 
tion.  He  believed  that  numbers  were  things  in  reality,  not 
merely  in  symbol.  When  therefore  Ritter  says  that  the  Pytha 
gorean  formula  "  can  only  be  taken  symbolically,"  he  appears 
to  us  to  commit  a  great  anachronism,  and  to  antedate  by  several 
centuries  a  mode  of  thought  at  variance  with  all  we  know  of 
Greek  Philosophy ;  at  variance  also  with  the  express  testimony 
of  Aristotle,  who  says,  "The  Pythagoreans  did  not  separate 
Numbers  from  Things.  They  held  number  to  be  the  Principle 
and  Material  of  things,  no  less  than  their  essence  and  power."* 
The.  notion  that  because  we,  in  the  present  state  of  philosophy, 
cannot  conceive  Numbers  otherwise  than  as  symbols,  therefore 
Pythagoras  must  have  conceived  them  in  the  same  way,  is  one 


'i.  i.  5.  Perhaps  it  would  be  more  accurate  to  say,  "  Numbers  are 
the  beginning  of  things,  the  cause  of  their  material  existence  (iiA^v  ro?j  ovai : 
Aristotle  has  before  defined  $\r)  us  causa  materialis,  cap.  3)  and  of  their  modi 
fications  (dij  TtdOr]  TE  Kat  «£«$)." 

The  whole  chapter  should  be  consulted  by  those  who  believe  in  the  sym 
bolical  use  of  numbers;  a  belief  Aristotle  had  certainly  no  suspicion  of.  I 
have  translated  all  the  passages  bearing  on  this  point  at  the  close  of  this 
Section. 


PHILOSOPHY    OF   PYTHAGORAS.  29 

which  has  been  very  widely  spread,  but  which  we  hold  to  be  as 
great  an  anachronism  as  Shakespeare's  Hector  quoting  Aristotle, 
or  Racine  exhibiting  the  etiquette  of  Versailles  in  the  camp  of 
Aulis.  And  Hitter  himself,  after  having  stated  with  considerable 
detail  the  various  points  in  this  philosophy,  admits  that  the 
essential  doctrine  rests  on  "the  derivation  of  all  in  the  world 
from  mathematical  relations,  and  on  the  resolution  of  the  rela 
tions  of  space  and  time  into  those  of  units  or  numbers.  All  pro 
ceeds  from  the  original  one,  or  primary  number,  or  from  the 
plurality  of  units  or  numbers  into  which  the  one  in  its  life-devel 
opment  divides  itself."  Now,  to  suppose  that  this  doctrine  was 
simply  mathematical,  and  not  mathematico-cosmological,  is  to 
violate  all  principles  of  historical  philosophy ;  for  it  is  to  throw 
the  opinions  of  our  day  into  the  period  of  Pythagoras.  For  a 
final  proof,  consider  the  formula,  ju-i'jxyjo'jv  sivai  TOL  ovrct  TWV 
ctpi^jxwv,  "  Things  are  the  copies  of  Numbers."  This  formula, 
which  of  all  others  is  the  most  favorable  to  the  notion  we  are 
combating,  will  on  a  close  inspection  exhibit  the  real  meaning 
of  Pythagoras  to  be  directly  the  reverse  of  symbolical.  Symbols 
are  arbitrary  marks,  bearing  no  resemblance  to  the  things  they 
represent ;  a,  6,  r,  x  are  but  letters  of  the  alphabet ;  the  mathe 
matician  makes  them  the  symbols  of  quantities,  or  of  things ; 
but  no  one  would  call  x  the-  copy  of  an  unknown  quantity.  But 
what  is  the  meaning  of  Things  being  copies  of  Numbers,  if  they 
are  Numbers  in  essence  ?  The  meaning  we  must  seek  in  an 
terior  explanations.  We  shall  there  find  that  Things  are  the 
concrete  existences  of  abstract  Existence  ;  and  that  when  numbers 
are  said  to  be  the  principia,,  it  is  meant  that  the  forms  of  ma 
terial  things,  the  original  essences,  which  remain  invariable,  are 
Numbers.*  Thus  a  stone-  is  One  stone  ;  as-  such  it  is  a  copy  of 
One ;  it  is  the  realization  of  the  abstract  One  into  a  concrete 


*  Hence  we  must  caution  against  supposing  Pythagoras  tcv  have  antici 
pated  the  theory  of  "  definite  proportions."  Numbers  are  not  the  laws  of 
combination,  nor  the  expression  of  those  laws,  but  the  essences  which  re 
main  invariable  under  every  variety  of  combination- 


30  THE   MATHEMATICIANS. 

stone.  Let  the  stone  be  ground  to  dust,  and  the  particle  of 
dust  is  still  a  copy,  another  copy  of  the  One. 

The  reader  will  bear  in  mind  that  we  have  only  a  few  mystical 
expressions,  such  as,  "Number  is  the  principle  of  Things," 
handed  down  to  us  as  the  doctrines  of  a  Thinker  who  created  a 
considerable  school,  and  whose  influence  on  philosophy  was 
undeniably  immense.  We  have  to  interpret  these  expressions 
as  we  best  can.  Above  all,  we  have  to  give  them  some  appear 
ance  of  plausibility ;  and  this  not  so  much  an  appearance  of 
plausibility  to  modern  thinkers  as  what  would  have  been  plausi 
ble  to  the  ancients.  Now,  as  far  as  we  have  familiarized  our 
selves  with  the  antique  modes  of  thought,  our  interpretation  of 
Pythagoras  is  one  which,  if  not  the  true,  is  at  any  rate  very 
analogous  to  it ;  by  such  a  logical  process  he  might  have  arrived 
at  his  conclusions,  and  for  our  purpose  this  is  almost  the  same  as 
if  he  had  arrived  at  them  by  it. 

This  history  has  but  to  settle  two  questions  respecting  Py 
thagoras  :  first,  did  he  regard  Numbers  as  symbols  merely,  or  as 
entities  ?  Second,  if  he  regarded  them  as  entities,  how  could  he 
have  arrived  at  such  an  opinion  ?  The  second  of  these  questions 
has  been  answered  in  a  hypothetical  manner  in  the  remarks  just 
made;  but  of  course  the  explanation  is  worthless  if  the  first  ques 
tion  be  negatived,  and  to  that  question  therefore  we  now  turn.  If 
we  are  to  accept  the  authority  of  Aristotle,  the  question  is  distinctly 
and  decisively  answered,  as  we  have  seen,  in  favor  of  the  reality 
of  Numbers.  It  is  true  that  doubts  are  thrown  on  the  authority 
of  Aristotle,  who  is  said  to  have  misunderstood  or  misrepresented 
the  Pythagorean  doctrine ;  but  when  we  consider  the  compre 
hensiveness  and  exactness  of  Aristotle's  mighty  intellect ;  when 
we  consider  further  that  he  had  paid  more  than  his  usual  atten 
tion  to  the  doctrines  of  the  Pythagoreans,  having  written  a 
specjal  treatise  thereon,  we  shall  be  slow  to  reject  any  statement 
he  may  make  unless  better  evidence  is  produced ;  and  where  can 
better  evidence  be  sought  ?  Either  we  must  accept  Aristotle,  or 
be  silent  on  the  whole  matter;  unless,  indeed,  we  prefer — as 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    PYTHAGORAS.  31 

many  prefer — our  own  sagacity  to  his  authority.  It  may  be 
stated  as  a  final  consideration,  that  the  view  taken  by  the  Stagi- 
rite  is  in  perfect  conformity  with  the  opinions  of  Anaximander; 
so  that  given,  the  philosophy  of  the  master,  we  might  a  priori 
deduce  the  opinions  of  the  pupil. 

The  nature  of  this  Work  forbids  any  detailed  account  of  the 
various  opinions  attributed  to  Pythagoras  on  subsidiary  points. 
But  we  may  instance  his  celebrated  theory  of  the  music  of  the 
spheres  as  a  good  specimen  of  the  deductive  method  employed 
by  him.  Assuming  that  every  thing  in  the  great  Arrangement 
(xotf/xos),  which  he  called  the  world,  must  be  harmoniously 
arranged,  and,  assuming  that  the  planets  were  at  the  same  pro 
portionate  distances  from  one  another  as  the  divisions  of  the 
monochord,  he  concluded  that  in  passing  through  the  ether  they 
must  make  a  sound,  and  that  this  sound  would  vary  according  to 
the  diversity  of  their  magnitude,  velocity,  and  relative  distance. 
Saturn  gave  the  deepest  tone,  as  being  the  furthest  from  the 
earth  ;  the  Moon  gave  the  shrillest,  as  being  nearest  to  the  earth. 

It  may  be  necessary  just  to  state  that  the  attempt  to  make 
Pythagoras  a  Monotheist  is  utterly  without  solid  basis,  and 
unworthy  of  detailed  refutation. 

His  doctrine  of  the  Transmigration  of  Souls  has  been  regarded 
as  symbolical ;  with  very  little  reason,  or  rather  with  no  reason 
at  all.  He  defined  the  soul  to  be  a  Monad  (unit)  which  was 
self-moved.*  Of  course  the  soul,  inasmuch  as  it  was  a  number, 
was  One,  i.  e.  perfect.  But  all  perfection,  in  as  far  as  it  is 
moved,  must  pass  into  imperfection,  whence  it  strives  to  regain 
its  state  of  perfection.  Imperfection  he  called  a  departure  from 
unity ;  two  therefore  was  accursed. 

The  soul  in  man  is  in  a  state  of  comparative  imperfection.^ 
It  has  three  elements,  Reason  (vouj),  Intelligence  (qpp^v),  and 


*  Aristot,,  De  Animd,  i.  2. 

t  Thus  Aristotle  expresses  himself  when  he  says  that  the  Pythagoreans 
maintained  the  soul  and  intelligence  to  be  a  certain  combination  of  numbers, 
TO  SI  roiovSl  (sc.  ruv  dpi0/uwi/  nddos)  </t>x»;  KOI  vovf. — Metaph.,  i.  5. 


32  THE    MATHEMATICIANS. 


Passion  (dufxc^)  :  the  two  last  man  has  in  common  with  brutes  ] 
the  first  is  his  distinguishing  characteristic.  It  has  hence  been 
concluded  that  Pythagoras  could  not  have  maintained  the  doc 
trine  of  transmigration,  his  distinguishing  man  from  brutes  being 
a  refutation  of  those  who  charge  him  with  the  doctrine.*  The 
objection  is  plausible,  and  points  out  a  contradiction  ;  but  there 
is  abundant  evidence  for  the  belief  that  transmigration  was 
taught.t  The  soul,  being  a  self-moved  monad,  is.  One,  whether 
it  connect  itself  with  two  or  with  three  ;  in  other  words,  the 
essence  remains  the  same  whatever  its  manifestations.  The  One 
soul  may  have  two  aspects,  Intelligence  and  Passion,  as  in 
brutes  ;  or  it  may  have  the  three  aspects,  as  in  man.  Each  of 
these  aspects  may  predominate,  and  the  man  will  then  become 
eminently  rational,  or  able,  or  sensual.  He  will  be  a  philosopher, 
a  man  of  the  world,  or  a  beast.  Hence  the  importance  of  the 
Pythagorean  initiation,  and  of  the  studies  of  Mathematics  and 
Music. 

"This  soul,  which  can  look  before  and  after,  can  shrink  and 
shrivel  itself  into  an  incapacity  of  contemplating  aught  but  the 
present  moment,  of  what  depths  of  degeneracy  is  it  capable  ! 
What  a  beast  it  may  become  !  And  if  something  lower  than 
itself,  why  not  something  higher?  And  if  something  higher 
and  lower,  may  there  not  be  a  law  accurately  determining  its 
elevation  and  descent?  Each  soul  has  its  peculiar  evil  tastes, 
bringing  it  to  the  likeness  of  different  creatures  beneath  itself; 
why  may  it  not  be  under  the  necessity  of  abiding  in  the  condi 
tion  of  that  thing  to  which  it  had  adapted  and  reduced  itself  ?"  J 

In  closing  this  account  of  a  very  imperfectly  known  doctrine, 
we  have  only  further  to  exhibit  its  relation  to  the  preceding 
philosophy.  It  is  clearly  an  offshoot  of  Anaximander's  doctrine, 


*  Pierre  Leroux,  De  V  Ilumanite,  i.  890-42&. 

t  Plato  distinctly  mentions  the  transmigration  into  beasts, — Phadrus,  p.  45. 
And  the  Pythagorean  Timceus,  in  his  statement  of  the  doctrine,  also  ex 
pressly  includes  beasts. —  Timceus,  p.  45. 

I  Maurice,  Moral  and  Metaphysical  PW#scphy. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  PYTHAGOKAS.  33. 

which  it  develops  in  a  more  logical  manner.  In  Anaximander 
there  remained  a  trace  of  physical  inquiry ;  in  Pythagoras 
science  is  frankly  mathematical.  Assuming  that  number  is  the 
real  invariable  essence  of  the  world,  it  was  a  natural  deduction 
that  the  w7orld  is  regulated  by  numerical  proportions ;  and  from, 
this  all  the  rest  of  his-  system  followed  as  a  consequence.  Anax- 
imander's  system  is  but  a  rude  and  daring  sketch  of  a  doctrine 
which  the  great  mathematical  genius  of  Pythagoras  developed. 
The  Infinite  of  Anaximander  became  the  One  of  Pythagoras. 
Observe  that  in  neither  of  these  systems  is  Mind  an  attribute  of 
the  Infinite.  It  has  been  frequently  maintained  that  Pythagoras 
taught  the  doctrine  of  "a  soul  of  the  world."  But  there  is  no, 
solid  ground  for  the  opinion,  any  more  than  for  that  of  his 
Theism,  which  later  writers  anxiously  attributed  to  him.  The 
conception  of  an  Infinite  Mind  is  much  later  than  Pythagoras. 
He  only  regarded  Mind  as  a  phenomenon ;  as  the  peculiar  man 
ifestation  of  an  essential  number ;  and  the  proof  of  this  assertion 
we  take  to  lie  in  his  very  doctrine  of  the  soul.  If  the  Monad, 
which  is  self-moved,  can  pass  into  the  state  of  a  brute  or  of 
a  plant,  in  which  state  it  successively  loses  its  Reason  (voS^)  and 
its  Intelligence  (<pp^jv)  to  become  merely  sensual  and  concupisci- 
ble,  does  not  this  abdication  of  Reasoa  and  Intelligence  distinctly 
prove  them  to  be  only  variable  manifestations  (phenomena)  of 
the  invariable  Essence  ?  Assuredly ;  and  those  wrho  argue  for 
the  Soul  of  the  World  as  an  Intelligence  in  the  Pythagorean 
doctrine,  must  renounce  both  the  doctrine  of  transmigration  and 
the  central  doctrine  of  the  system,  the  invariable  Number  as  the 
Essence  of  things. 

Pythagoras  represents  the  second  epoch  of  the  second  Branch 
of  Ionian  Philosophy  ;  he  is  parallel  with  Anaximenes. 


34:  THE   MATHEMATICIANS. 

Translations  from  the  5th  Chapter  of  Book  I.  of  Aristotle's 
Metaphysics. 

"  In  the  age  of  these  philosophers  [the  Eleats  and  Atomists], 
and  even  before  them,  lived  those  called  Pythagoreans,  who 
at  first  applied  themselves  to  mathematics,  a  science  they  im 
proved  ;  and,  having  been  trained  exclusively  in  it,  they  fancied 
that  the  principles  of  mathematics  were  the  principles  of  all 
things. 

"  Since  numbers  are  by  nature  prior  to  all  things,  in  Numbers 
they  thought  they  perceived  greater  analogies  with  that  which 
exists  and  that  which  is  produced  (ojaoiw/xa-ra  -TfoXXa  TO?£  outfi 
KOLI  T^VO/XS'VOIS),  than  in  fire,  earth,  or  water.  So  that  a  certain 
combination  of  Numbers  was  justice  ;  and  a  certain  other  com 
bination  of  Numbers  was  Reason  and  Intelligence  ;  and  a  certain 
other  combination  of  Numbers  was  opportunity  (xaipfc) ;  and  so 
of  the  rest, 

"Moreover,  they  saw  in  Numbers  the  combinations  of  har 
mony.  Since  therefore  all  things  seemed  formed  similarly  to 
Numbers,  and  Numbers  being  by  nature  anterior  to  things,  they 
concluded  that  the  elements  (tfroi^eTa)  of  Numbers  are  the  ele 
ments  of  things,  and  that  the  whole  heaven  is  a  harmony  and 
a  Number.  Having  indicated  the  great  analogies  between  Num 
bers  and  the  phenomena  of  heaven  and  its  parts,  and  with  the 
phenomena  of  the  whole  world  (<r»)v  6'X.njv  &axoVjUW)<f»v),  they 
formed  a  system ;  and  if  any  gap  was  apparent  in  the  system, 
they  used  every  effort  to  restore  the  connection.  Thus,  since 
Ten  appeared  to  them  a  perfect  number,  potentially  containing 
all  numbers,  they  declared  that  the  moving  celestial  bodies  (TO. 
4>gpofj£vct  xara  rov  oupavov)  were  ten  in  number;  but  because 
only  nine  are  visible  they  imagined  (tfoioutfi)  a  tenth,  the  An- 
tictlione. 

"  We  have  treated  of  all  these  things  more  in  detail  elsewhere. 
But  the  reason  why  we  recur  to  them  is  this — that  we  may 
learn  from  these  philosophers  also  what  they  lay  down  as  their 


35 

first  principles,  and  by  what  process  they  hit  upon  the  causes 
aforesaid. 

"They  maintained  that  Number  was  the  Beginning  (Princi 
ple,  &px*j)  of  things,  the  cause  of  their  material  existence,  and 
of  their  modifications  and  different  states.  The  elements  (tfroi^sra) 
of  Number  are  Odd  and  Even.  The  Odd  is  finite,  the  Even 
infinite.  Unity,  the  One,  partakes  of  both  these,  and  is  both 
Odd  and  Even.  All  number  is  derived  from  the  One.  The 
heavens,  as  we  said  before,  are  composed  of  numbers.  Other 
Pythagoreans  say  there  are  ten  Principia,  those  called  co-ordi 
nates : 

The  finite  and  the  infinite. 

The  odd  and  the  even. 

The  one  and  the  many. 

The  right  and  the  left. 

The  male  and  the  female. 

The  quiescent  and  the  moving. 

The  right  line  and  the  curve. 

Light  and  darkness. 

Good  and  evil. 

The  square  and  the  oblong. 

"...  All  the  Pythagoreans  considered  the  elements  as  ma 
terial;  for  the  elements  are  in  all  things,  and  constitute  the 
world.  .  .  . 

"...  The  finite,  the  infinite,  and  the  One  they  maintained 
to  be  not  separate  existences,  such  as  are  fire,  water,  etc. ;  but 
the  abstract  Infinite  and  the  abstract  One  are  respectively  the 
substance  of  the  things  of  which  they  are  predicated,  and  hence, 
too,  Number  is  the  substance  of  all  things  (au-ro  TO  owreipov, 
•x.a.1  auTo  TO  s'v,  outf/av  sivai  TOUTOV).  They  began  by  attending 
only  to  the  Form,  and  began  to  define  it ;  but  on  this  subject 
they  were  very  imperfect.  They  define  superficially ;  and  that 
which  suited  their  definition  they  declared  to  be  the  essence 
(causa  materialis)  of  the  thing  defined ;  as  if  one  should  main 
tain  that  the  double  and  the  number  two  are  the  same  thing, 


36  THE    MATHEMATICIANS. 

because  the  double  is  first  found  in  the  two.  But  two  and  the 
double  are  not  equal  (in  essence),  or  if  so,  then  the  one  would 
be  many ;  a  consequence  which  follows  from  their  (the  Pytha 
gorean)  doctrine." 

(We  add  also  a  passage  from  the  *7th  Chapter  of  the  same  Book.} 
"  The  Pythagoreans  employ  the  Principia  and  Elements  more 
strangely  than  even  the  Physiologists;  the  cause  of  which  is 
that  they  do  not  take  them  from  sensible  things  (auras  °ux  e£ 
ajVdujrwv).  However,  all  their  researches  are  physical ;  all  their 
systems  are  physical.  They  explain  the  production  of  heaven, 
and  observe  that  which  takes  place  in  its  various  parts,  and  its 
revolutions ;  and  thus  they  employ  their  Principles  and  Causes, 
as  if  they  agreed  with  the  Physiologists,  that  whatever  is  is 
material  (o/tfdqrov),  and  is  that  which  contains  what  we  call 
heaven. 

"  But  their  Causes  and  Principles  we  should  pronounce  suffi 
cient  (ixavas)  to  raise  them  up  to  the  conception  of  Intelligible 
things, — of  things  above  sense  (scrava/^vaj  xa/  siei  <ra  avwre'pw 
<rwv  OVTWV)  ;  and  would  accord  with  such  a  conception  much 
better  than  with  that  of  physical  things." 

This  criticism  of  Aristotle's  is  a  perfect  refutation  of  those  who 
see  in  Pythagoras  the  traces  of  symbolical  doctrine.  Aristotle 
sees  how  much  more  rational  the  doctrine  would  have  been  had 
it  been  symbolical;  but  this  very  remark  proves  that  it  was 
not  so. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE    ELEATICS. 

§  I.  XENOPHANES. 

THE  contradictory  statements  which  so  Jong  obscured  the  ques 
tion  of  the  date  of  Xenophanes'  birth,  may  now  be  said  to  be 
satisfactorily  cleared  up.  M.  Victor  Cousin's  essay  on  the  sub 
ject  will  leave  few  readers  unconvinced.*  We  may  assert  there 
fore  with  some  probability,  that  Xenophanes  was  born  in  the 
40th  Olympiad  (B.  c.  620-616),  and  that  he  lived  nearly  a  hun 
dred  years.  His  birthplace  was  Colophon,  an  Ionian  city  of 
Asia  Minor ;  a  city  long  famous  as  the  seat  of  elegiac  and  gnomic 
poetry,  and  ranking  the  poet  Mimnermus  among  its  celebrated 
men.  Xenophanes  cultivated  this  species  of  poetry  from  youth 
upwards ;  it  was  the  joy  of  his  youth,  the  consolation  of  his  man 
hood,  and  support  of  his  old  age.  Banished  from  his  native  city, 
he  wandered  over  Sicily  as  a  Rhapsodist  ;f  a  profession  he  exer 
cised  apparently  till  his  death,  though,  if  we  are  to  credit  Plu 
tarch,  with  very  little  pecuniary  benefit.  He  lived  poor,  and  died 
poor.  But  he  could  dispense  with  riches,  having  within  him  treas 
ures  inexhaustible.  He  whose  whole  soul  was  en  wrapt  in  the  con 
templation  of  grand  ideas,  and  whose  vocation  was  the  poetical 
expression  of  those  ideas,  needed  but  little  worldly  grandeur. 
He  seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  anti- 


*  Nouveaux  Fragmens  Pldlosopliiques. — The  critical  reader  will  observe 
some  misstatements  in  this  essay,  but  on  the  whole  it  is  well  worthy  of 
perusal.  Karsten's  Xenophanis  Carminum  Reliquiae  \&  of  great  value. 

t  The  Khapsodists  were  the  Minstrels  of  antiquity.  They  learned  poems 
by  heart,  and  recited  them  to  assembled  crowds  on  the  occasions  of  feasts. 
Homer  was  a  rhapsodist,  and  rhapsodized  his  own  verses. 


38  THE    ELEATICS. 

quity,  and  also  one  of  the  most  fanatical.  lie  had  no  pity  for 
the  idle  and  luxurious  superstitions  of  his  time  ;  he  had  no  toler 
ance  for  the  sunny  legends  of  Homer,  defaced  as  they  were  by 
the  errors  of  polytheism.  He,  a  poet,  was  fierce  in  the  combat 
he  perpetually  waged  with  the  first  of  poets :  not  from  petty 
envy ;  not  from  petty  ignorance ;  but  from  the  deep  sincerity  of 
his  heart,  from  the  holy  enthusiasm  of  his  reverence.  He  who 
believed  in  one  God,  supreme  in  power,  goodness,  and  intelli 
gence,  could  not  witness  without  pain  the  degradation  of  the 
Divine  in  the  common  religion.  He  was  not  dead  to  the  poetic 
beauty  of  the  Homeric  fables,  but  keenly  alive  to  their  religious 
falsehood.  Plato,  whom  none  will  accuse  of  wanting  poetical 
taste,  made  the  same  objection.  The  latter  portion  of  the  second 
and  the  beginning  of  the  third  books  of  Plato's  Republic  are  but 
expansions  of  these  verses  of  Xenophanes  : 

"Such  things  of  the  Gods  are  related  by  Homer  and  Hesiod 
As  would  be  shame  and  abiding  disgrace  to  any  of  mankind ; 
Promises  broken,  and  thefts,  and  the  one  deceiving  the  other." 

He  who  firmly  believed  in 

•  "  One  God,  of  all  beings  divine  and  human  the  greatest, 
Neither  in  body  alike  unto  mortals,  neither  in  spirit,"* 

could  not  but  see,  "more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,"  the  gross  an 
thropomorphism  of  his  fellows : 

"But  men  foolishly  think  that  Gods  are  born  like  as  men  are, 
And  have  too  a  dress  like  their  own,  and  their  voice  and  their  figure : 
But  if  oxen  and  lions  had  hands  like  ours,  and  fingers, 
Then  would  horses  like  unto  horses,  and  oxen  to  oxen, 
Paint  and  fashion  their  god-forms,  and  give  to  them  bodies 
Of  like  shape  to  their  own,  as  they  themselves  too  are  fashioned. "t 


*  This  is  to  'important  a  position  to  admit  of  our  passing  over  the  ori 
ginal  : 

Elj  Qt&s  cv  T£  Qtoiai   Kin   avQpuiroicrt   niyioros 

O&TC  If  pas  Qvrjrnlaiv  b^oiios  oCrc  vorjua. — Fi'itrjm.  i.,  ed.  Kftrsten. 
Wiggers,  in  his  Life  of  Socralest  expresses  his  surprise  that  Xenophanes 
was  allowed  to  speak  so  freely  respecting  the  State  Religion  in  Magna 
Groecia,  when  philosophical  opinions  much  less  connected  with  religion 
had  proved  so  fatal  to  Anaxagoras  in  Athens.  But  the  apparent  contra 
diction  is  perhaps  reconciled  when  we  remember  that  Xenophanes  was  a 
poet,  and  poets  have  in  all  ages  been  somewhat  privileged  persons. 

t  Fragments  v.  and  vi.  are  here  united,  as  in  Hitter ;  the  sense  seems 


XENOPHANES.  39 

In  confirmation  of  which  satire  he  referred  to  the  Ethiopians, 
who  represent  their  gods  with  flat  noses  and  black  complexion  ; 
while  the  Thracians  give  them  blue  eyes  and  ruddy  complexions. 
Having  attained  a  clear  recognition  of  the  unity  and  perfec 
tion  of  the  Godhead,  it  became  the  object  of  his  life  to  spread 
that  conviction  abroad,  and  to  tear  down  the  thick  veil  of  super 
stition  which  hid  the  august  countenance  of  truth.  He  looked 
around  him,  and  saw  mankind  divided  into  two  classes :  those 
who  speculated  on  the  nature  of  things,  endeavoring  to  raise 
themselves  up  to  a  recognition  of  the  Divine ;  and  those  who 
yielded  an  easy  unreflecting  assent  to  the  superstitions  which 
composed  religion.  The  first  class  speculated ;  but  they  kept 
their  speculations  to  themselves,  and  to  a  small  circle  of  disciples. 
If  they  sought  truth,  it  was  not  to  communicate  it  to  all  minds : 
they  did  not  work  for  humanity,  but  for  the  few.  Even  Pythag 
oras,  earnest  thinker  as  he  was,  could  not  be  made  to  believe  in 
the  fitness  of  the  multitude  for  truth.  lie  had  two  sorts  of  doc 
trine  to  teach :  one  for  a  few  disciples,  whom  he  chose  with  ex 
treme  caution ;  the  other  for  those  who  pleased  to  listen.  The 
former  doctrine  was  what  he  believed  the  truth  ;  the  latter  was 
what  he  thought  the  masses  were  fitted  to  receive.  Xenophanes 
recognized  no  such  distinction.  Truth  was  for  all  men ;  to  all 
men  he  endeavored  to  present  it ;  and  for  three-quarters  of  a 
century  he,  the  great  Rhapsodist  of  Truth,  emulated  his  country 
man  Homer,  the  great  Rhapsodist  of  Beauty,  and  wandered  into 
many  lands,  uttering  the  thought  which  was  working  in  him. 
What  a  contrast  is  presented  by  these  two  Ionian  singers !  con 
trast  in  purpose,  in  means,  and  in  fate.  The  rhapsodies  of  the 
philosopher,  once  so  eagerly  listened  to  and  affectionately  pre 
served  in  traditionary  fragments,  are  now  only  extant  in  briefest 
extracts  contained  in  ancient  books,  so  ancient  and  so  uninterest 
ing  as  to  be  visited  only  by  some  rare  old  scholars  and  a  few 

to  demand  this  conjunction.  But  Clemens  Alexandrinus  quotes  the  sec 
ond  Fragment  as  if  it  occurred  in  another  part  of  the  poem;  introducing 
it  with  Kal  rrdAiv  ^<n,  "and  again  he  says." — Karsten,  p.  41. 


40  THE    ELEATICS. 

dilettanti  spiders ;  while  the  rhapsodies  of  the  blind  singer  are 
living  in  the  brain  and  heart  of  thousands  and  thousands,  who 
go  back  to  them  as  the  fountain-source  of  poetry,  the  crystal 
mirror  of  an  antique  world. 

The  world  presented  itself  to  Homer  in  pictures,  to  Xenophanes 
in  problems.  The  one  saw  Nature,  enjoyed  it,  and  painted  it. 
The  other  also  saw  Nature,  but  questioned  it,  and  wrestled  with 
it.  Every  trait  in  Homer  is  sunny  clear ;  in  Xenophanes  there 
is  indecision,  confusion.  In  Homer  there  is  a  resonance  of  glad 
ness,  a  sense  of  manifold  life,  activity,  and  enjoyment.  In  Xeno- 
phaues  there  is  bitterness,  activity  of  a  spasmodic  sort,  infinite 
doubt,  and  infinite  sadness.  The  one  was  a  poet  singing  as  the 
bird  sings,  carolling  for  very  exuberance  of  life ;  the  other  was  a 
Thinker,  and  a  fanatic.  He  did  not  sing,  he  recited  : 

"All !  how  unlike 
To  that  large  utterance  of  the  early  Gods  I" 

That  the  earnest  philosopher  should  have  opposed  the  sunny 
poet,  opposed  him  even  with  bitterness,  on  account  of  the  de 
graded  actions  and  motives  which  he  attributed  to  the  Gods,  is 
natural ;  but  we  must  distinguish  between  this  opposition  and 
satire.  Xenophanes  was  bitter,  not  satirical.  The  statement  de 
rived  from  Diogenes,  that  he  wrote  satires  against  Homer  and  He- 
siod,  is  erroneous.*  Those  who  think  otherwise  are  referred  to 
the  excellent  essay  of  Victor  Cousin,  before  mentioned,  or  to 
Hitter. 

Rhapsodizing  philosophy,  and  availing  himself,  for  that  pur 
pose,  of  all  that  philosophers  had  discovered,  he  wandered  from 
place  to  place,  and  at  last  came  to  Elea,  where  he  settled.  Heo-el 
questions  this :  he  says  he  finds  no  distinct  mention  of  such  a 
fact  in  any  of  the  ancient  writers;  on  the  contrary,  Strabo,  in  his 


Kal  iv  circaiv,  Kal  iXeyclaS,  Kal  t'd/</?utif  Kurd  'Hai6&ov  Kal  ' 
Here,  says  M.  Cousin,  the  word  ldn(3ov$  is  either  an  interpolation  of  a  copy 
ist,  as  Feurlin  and  Rossi  conjecture,  or  else  it  is  a  misstatement  bv  Diogenes. 
There  is  not  a  single  iambic  verse  of  his  remaining.  But  in  his  hexameters 
he  opposes  Homer  and  Ilesiod,  as  we  have  seen. 


XENOPHANES.  41 

sixth  book,  when  describing  Elea,  speaks  of  Parmenides  and 
Zeno  as  having  lived  there,  but  is  silent  respecting  Xenophanes, 
which  Hegel  holds  to  be  suspicious.  Indeed  the  words  of  Dio 
genes  Laertius  are  vague.  lie  says,  "  Xenophanes  wrote  two 
thousand  verses  on  the  foundation  of  Colophon,  and  on  a  colony 
sent  to  Elea."  This  by  no  means  implies  that  he  lived  there. 
Nevertheless  we  concur  with  the  modern  writers  who,  from  the 
various  connections  with  the  Eleatics  observable  in  his  fragments, 
maintain  that  he  must  actually  have  resided  there.  The  reader 
is  again  referred  to  M.  Cousin  on  this  point.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
Xenophanes  terminated  a  long  and  active  life  without  having 
solved  the  great  problem.  The  indecision  of  his  acute  mind 
sowed  the  seeds  of  that  skepticism  which  was  hereafter  to  play  so 
large  a  part  in  philosophy.  All  his  knowledge  enabled  him  only 
to  know  how  little  he  knew."  His  state  of  mind  is  finely  described 
by  Timon  the  sillograph,  who  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Xenophanes 
these  words : 

"  Oh  that  mine  were  the  deep  mind,  prudent  and  looking1  to  both  sides! 
Long,  alas  !  have  I  strayed  on  the  road  of  error,  beguiled, 
And  am,  now,  hoary  of  years,  yet  exposed  to  doubt  and  distraction 
Manifold,  all-perplexing,  for  whithersoever  I  turn  me 
I  am  lost  in  the  One  and  All.'1'1 — (cig  tv  raur<5  TE  xav  avcKijtro.}* 

It  now  remains  for  us  to  state  some  of  the  conclusions  at  which 
this  great  man  arrived.  They  will  not,  perhaps,  answer  to  the 
reader's  expectation ;  as  with  Pythagoras,  the  reputation  for  ex 
traordinary  wisdom  seems  ill  justified  by  the  fragments  of  that 
wisdom  which  have  descended  to  us.  But  although  to  modern 
philosophy  the  conclusions  of  these  early  thinkers  may  appear 
trivial,  let  us  never  forget  that  it  is  to  these  early  thinkers  that 
we  owe  our  modern  philosophy.  Had  there  not  been  many  a 

"  Gray  spirit  yearning  in  desire 
To  follow  knowledge,  like  a  sinking  star, 
Beyond  the  utmost  bound  of  human  thought,"t 

*  Preserved  by  Sextus  Empiricus,  Hypot.  Pyrrkun.  i.  224 ;  and  quoted 
also  by  Eitter,  i.  443. 
t  Tennyson. 


42  THE    ELKATICS. 

we  should  not  have  been  able  to  travel  on  the  secure  terrestrial 
path  of  slow  inductive  science.  The  impossible  has  to  be  proved 
impossible,  before  men  will  consent  to  limit  their  endeavors  to 
the  compassing  of  the  possible.  And  it  was  the  cry  of  despair 
which  escaped  from  Xenophanes,  the  cry  that  nothing  can  be 
certainly  known,  which  first  called  men's  attention  to  the  nothing 
ness  of  knowledge,  as  knowledge  was  then  conceived.  Xenophanes 
opens  a  series  of  thinkers,  which  attained  its  climax  in  Pyrrho. 
That  he  should  thus  have  been  at  the  head  of  the  monotheists, 
and  at  the  head  of  the  skeptics,  is  sufficient  to  entitle  his  specu 
lations  to  an  extended  consideration  here. 

§  II.  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  XENOPHANES. 
The  great  problem  of  existence  had  early  presented  itself  to  his 
mind ;  and  the  resolution  of  that  problem  by  Thales  and  Pythag 
oras  had  left  him  unsatisfied.  Neither  the  physical  nor  the 
mathematical  explanation  could  still  the  doubts  which  rose  within 
him.  On  all  sides  he  was  oppressed  with  mysteries,  which  these 
doctrines  could  not  penetrate.  The  state  of  his  mind  is  graphic 
ally  painted  in  that  one  phrase  of  Aristotle's :  ;'  Casting  his  eyes 
upwards  at  the  immensity  of  heaven,  he  declared  that  The  One 
is  God."  Overarching  him  was  the  deep  blue,  infinite  vault, 
immovable,  unchangeable,  embracing  him  and  all  things  ;  that 
he  proclaimed  to  be  God.  As  Thales  had  gazed  abroad  upon  the 
sea,  and  felt  that  he  was  resting  on  its  infinite  bosom,  so  Xeno 
phanes  gazed  above  him  at  the  sky,  and  felt  that  he  was  encom 
passed  by  it.  Moreover  it  was  a  great  mystery,  inviting  yet  de 
fying  scrutiny.  The  sun  and  moon  whirled  to  and  fro  through 
it ;  the  stars  were 

u  Pinnacled  dim  in  its  intense  inane." 

The  earth  was  constantly  aspiring  to  it  in  the  shape  of  vapor,  the 
souls  of  men  were  perpetually  aspiring  to  it  with  vague  yearn 
ings.  It  was  the  centre  of  all  existence ;  it  was  Existence  itself. 
It  was  The  One, — the  Immovable,  on  whose  bosom  the  Many 
were  moved. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    XENOPHANES.  43 

Is  not  this  the  explanation  of  that  opinion  universally  attrib 
uted  to  him,  but  always  variously  interpreted,  "God  is  a  sphere?" 
The  Heaven  encompassing  him  and  all  things,  was  it  not  The 
One  Sphere  which  he  proclaimed  to  be  God  ? 

It  is  very  true  that  this  explanation  does  not  exactly  accord 
with  his  physics,  especially  with  that  part  which  relates  to  the 
earth  being  a  flat  surface,  whose  inferior  regions  are  infinite,  by 
which  he  explained  the  fixity  of  the  earth.  M.  Cousin,  in  conse 
quence  of  this  discrepancy,  would  interpret  the  phrase  as  meta 
phorical.  "  The  epithet  spherical  is  simply  a  Greek  locution,  to 
indicate  the  perfect  equality  and  absolute  unity  of  God,  and  of 
which  a  sphere  may  be  an  image.  The  rf<paipixo£  of  the  Greeks 
is  the  rotundus  of  the  Latins.  It  is  a  metaphorical  expression, 
such  as  that  of  square,  meaning  perfect  •  an  expression  which, 
though  now  become  trivial,  had  at  the  birth  of  mathematical 
science  something  noble  and  elevated  in  it,  and  is  found  in  most 
elevated  compositions  of  poetry.  Sirnonides  speaks  of  a  'man 
square  as  to  his  feet,  his  hands,  and  his  mind,'  meaning  an  ac 
complished  man ;  and  the  metaphor  is  also  used  by  Aristotle. 
It  is  not,  therefore,  surprising  that  Xenophanes,  a  poet  as  well  as 
a  philosopher,  writing  in  verse,  and  incapable  of  finding  the  meta 
physical  expression  which  answered  to  his  ideas,  should  have 
borrowed  from  the  language  of  imagination  the  expression  which 
would  best  render  his  idea." 

We  should  be  tempted  to  adopt  this  explanation,  could  we  be 
satisfied  that  the  Physics  of  Xenophanes  were  precisely  what  it 
is  said  they  were,  or  that  they  were  such  at  the  epoch  in  which 
he  maintained  the  sphericity  of  God.  This  latter  difficulty  is  in 
superable,  but  has  been  unobserved  by  all  critics.  A  man  who 
lives  a  hundred  years,  necessarily  changes  his  opinions  on  such 
subjects;  and  when  opinions  are  so  lightly  grounded,  as  were 
those  of  philosophers  at  that  epoch,  it  is  but  natural  to  admit 
that  the  changes  may  have  been  frequent  and  abrupt.  In  this 
special  instance,  scholars  have  been  aware  of  the  very  great  and 
irreconcilable  contradictions  existing  between  certain  opinions 


44  THE    ELEATICS. 

equally  authentic ;  showing  him  to  have  been  decidedly  Physical 
(Ionian)  in  one  department,  and  as  decidedly  Mathematical  (Pyth 
agorean)  in  another. 

As  to  the  case  in  point,  Aristotle's  express  statement  of  Xe- 
nophanes  having  "  looked  up  at  heaven,  and  pronounced  The  One 
to  be  God,"  is  manifestly  at  variance  with  any  belief  in  the  in 
finity  of  the  lower  regions  of  the  earth.  The  One  must  be  the 
Infinite. 

To  return,  however,  to  his  Monotheism,  or  more  properly 
Pantheism,  which  is  the  greatest  peculiarity  of  his  doctrine :  he 
not  only  destroyed  the  notion  of  a  multiplicity  of  Gods,  but  he 
proclaimed  the  Self-existence  and  Intelligence  of  The  One. 

God  must  be  Self-existent ;  for  to  conceive  Being  as  incipient  is 
impossible.  Nothing  can  be  produced  from  Nothing.  AVhence, 
therefore,  was  Being  produced?  From  itself ?  No;  for  then  it 
must  have  been  already  in  existence  to  produce  itself,  otherwise 
it  would  have  been  produced  from  nothing.  Hence  the  primary 
law  :  Being  is  self-existent.  If  self-existent,  consequently  eternal. 

As  in  this  it  is  implied  that  God  is  all-powerful  and  all-wise 
and  all-existent,  a  multiplicity  of  Gods  is  inconceivable. 

It  also  follows  that  God  is  immovable,  when  considered  as 
The  All : 

"  Wholly  unmoved  and  unmoving  it  ever  remains  in  the  same  place, 
"Without  change  in  its  place  when  at  times  it  changes  appearance." 

The  All  must  be  unmoved ;  there  is  nothing  to  move  it.  It 
cannot  move  itself;  for  to  do  so  it  must  be  external  to  itself. 

We  must  not  suppose  that  he  denied  motion  to  finite  things 
because  he  denied  it  to  the  Infinite.  He  only  maintained  that 
The  All  was  unmoved.  Finite  things  were  moved  by  God : 
"  without  labor,  he  ruleth  all  things  by  reason  and  insight."  His 
monotheism  was  carefully  distinguished  from  anthropomorphism, 
as  the  verses  previously  quoted  have  already  exemplified.  Let 
us  only  further  remark  on  the  passage  in  Diogenes  Laertius, 
wherein  he  is  said  to  have  maintained  that  "  God  did  not  re 
semble  man,  for  he  heard  and  saw  all  things  without  respira- 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    XENOPIIANES.  45 

/ton."  This  is  manifestly  an  allusion  to  the  doctrine  of  Anax- 
imenes  that  the  soul  was  air.  The  intelligence  of  God,  being 
utterly  unlike  that  of  man,  is  said  to  be  independent  of  respi 
ration.* 

It  is  necessary  to  caution  the  reader  against  the  supposition 
that  by  the  One  God  Xenophanes  meant  a  Personal  God,  dis 
tinct  from  the  universe.  He  was  a  monotheist  in  contradistinc 
tion  to  his  polytheistical  contemporaries ;  but  his  monotheism 
was  pantheism.  Indeed  this  point  would  never  have  been 
doubted,  notwithstanding  the^ambiguity  of  language,  if  moderns 
had  steadily  kept  before  their  minds  the  conceptions  held  by  the 
Greeks  of  their  Gods  as  personifications  of  the  Powers  of  Nature. 
When  Xenophanes  argued  against  the  polytheism  of  his  con 
temporaries,  he  argued  against  their  personifying  as  distinct  dei 
ties  the  various  aspects  of  The  One ;  he  was  wroth  with  their 
degradation  of  the  divine  nature  by  assimilating  it  to  human 
nature,  by  making  these  powers  persons,  and  independent  exist 
ences, — conceptions  irreconcilable  with  that  of  the  unity  of  God. 
He  was  a  monotheist  therefore,  but  his  monotheism  was  panthe 
ism  ;  he  could  not  separate  God  from  the  world,  which  was 
merely  the  manifestation  of  God ;  he  could  not  conceive  God 
as  the  One  Existent,  and  admit  the  existence  of  a  world  not  God. 
There  could  be  but  One  Existence  with  many  modes ;  that  one 
was  God. 

There  is  another  tenet  of  almost  equal  importance  in  his  sys 
tem,  and  one  which  marks  the  origin  of  that  skeptical  philoso 
phy  which  we  shall  see  henceforward  running  through  all  the 
evolutions  of  this  history,  always  determining  a  crisis  in  specula 
tion.  Up  to  the  time  of  Xenophanes  philosophy  was  unsus 
pectingly  dogmatical :  it  never  afterwards  recovered  that  simple 
position.  He  it  was  who  began  to  doubt,  and  to  confess  the  in- 


*  Only  by  thus  connecting  one  doctrine  with  another  can  we  hope  to  un 
derstand  ancient  philosophy.  It  is  in  vain  that  we  puzzle  ourselves  with 
the  attempt  to  penetrate  the  meaning  of  these  antique  fragments  of  thought 
unless  we  view  them  in  relation  to  the  opinions  of  their  epoch. 


46  THE'  ELEATICS. 

competence  of  Reason  to  solve  doubts  and  compass  the  exalted 
aims  of  philosophy.  Yet  the  doubt  was  moral  rather  than  psy 
chological.  It  was  no  systematic  skepticism  :  an  earnest  spirit 
struggling  after  Truth,  whenever  he  obtained,  or  thought  he  ob 
tained,  a  glimpse  of  her  celestial  countenance,  he  proclaimed  his 
discovery,  however  it  might  contradict  what  he  had  before  an 
nounced.  Long  travel,  various  experience,  examination  of  differ 
ent  systems,  new  and  contradictory  glimpses  of  the  problem  he 
was  desirous  of  solving, — these  working  together  produced  in 
his  mind  a  skepticism  of  a  noble,  somewhat  touching  sort,  wholly 
unlike  that  of  his  successors.  It  was  the  combat  of  contradictory 
opinions  in  his  mind,  rather  than  disdain  of  knowledge.  His 
faith  was  steady,  his  opinions  vacillating.  He  had  a  profound 
conviction  of  the  existence  of  an  eternal,  all-wise,  infinite  Being; 
but  this  belief  he  was  unable  to  reduce  to  a  consistent  formula. 
There  is  deep  sadness  in  these  verses : 

"  Surely  never  hath  been,  nor  ever  shall  be  a  mortal 
Knowing  both  well  the  Gods  and  the  All,  whose  nature  we  treat  of; 
For  when  by  chance  he  at  times  may  utter  the  true  and  the  perfect, 
He  wists  not  unconscious ;  for  error  is  spread  over  all  things.'1'1 

In  vain  M.  Cousin  attempts  to  prove  that  these  verses  are  not 
skeptical ;  many  of  the  recorded  opinions  of  Xenophanes  are  of 
the  same  tendency.  The  man  who  had  lived  to  find  his  most 
cherished  convictions  turn  out  errors,  might  well  be  skeptical  of 
the  truth  of  any  of  his  opinions.  But  this  skepticism  was  vague ; 
it  did  not  prevent  his  proclaiming  what  he  held  to  be  the  truth ; 
it  did  not  prevent  his  search  after  truth. 

For  although  Truth  could  never  be  compassed  in  its  totality 
by  man,  glimpses  could  be  caught.  'AXXdt  p^povw  ^rovvrss 
fqpgupirfxoufl'iv  ajjosivov :  we  cannot  indeed  be  certain  that  our  knowl 
edge  is  absolute ;  we  can  only  strive  our  utmost,  and  believe  our 
opinions  to  be  probable.  This  is  not  scientific  skepticism ;  it 
does  not  ground  itself  on  an  investigation  of  the  nature  of  Intel 
ligence  and  the  sources  of  our  knowledge :  it  grounds  itself 
solely  on  the  perplexities  into  which  philosophy  is  thrown.  Thus 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    XENOPHANES.  47 

reason  (i.  e.  the  logic  of  his  clay)  taught  him  that  God  the  Infi 
nite  could  not  be  infinite,  neither  could  he  be  finite.  Not  in 
finite,  because  non-being  alone,  as  having  neither  beginning, 
middle,  nor  end,  is  unlimited  (infinite).  Not  finite,  because  one 
thing  can  only  be  limited  by  another,  and  God  is  one,  not  many. 

In  like  manner  did  logic  teach  him  that  God  was  neither 
moved  nor  unmoved.  Not  moved,  because  one  thing  can  only 
be  moved  by  another,  and  God  is  one,  not  many ;  not  unmoved, 
because  non-being  alone  is  unmoved,  inasmuch  as  it  neither  goes 
to  another,  nor  does  another  come  to  it. 

With  such  verbal  quibbles  as  these  did  this  great  thinker 
darken  his  conception  of  the  Deity.  They  were  not  quibbles  to 
him ;  they  were  the  real  conclusions  involved  in  the  premises 
from  which  he  reasoned.  To  have  doubted  their  validity  would 
have  been  to  doubt  the  possibility  of  philosophy.  He  was  not  quite 
prepared  for  that ;  and  Aristotle  in  consequence  calls  him  "  some 
what  clownish,"  aypoixorspoj  (Met.  i.  5) ;  meaning  that  his  con 
ceptions  were  rude  and  undigested,  instead  of  being  systematized. 

Although  in  the  indecision  of  Xenophanes  we  see  the  germs 
of  later  skepticism,  we  are  disposed  to  agree  with  M.  Cousin  in 
discrediting  his  absolute  skepticism — resting  on  the  incompre 
hensibility  of  all  things — dxaTaX^-^/la  tfavrwv.  Nevertheless  some 
of  M.  Cousin's  grounds  appear  to  us  questionable.* 

The  reader  will,  perhaps,  have  gathered  from  the  foregoing, 
that  Xenophanes  was  too  much  in  earnest  to  believe  in  the  in 
comprehensibility  of  all  things,  however  the  contradictions  of  his 
logic  might  cause  him  to  suspect  his  and  other  people's  conclu 
sions.  Of  course,  if  carried  out  to  their  legitimate  consequences, 
his  principles  lead  to  absolute  skepticism ;  but  he  did  not  so 


*  E.  g.  He  says :  "  It  appears  that  Sotion,  according  to  Diogenes,  attrib 
uted  to  Xenophanes  the  opinion,  all  things  are  incomprehensible ;  but  Dio 
genes  adds  that  Sotion  was  wrong  on  that  point."  (Fragmens,  p.  89.)  Now 
this  is  altogether  a  misstatement.  Diogenes  says :  "  Sotion  pretends  that 
no  one  before  Xenoplianes  maintained  the  incomprehensibility  of  all  things ; 
but  he  is  wrong."  Diogenes  here  does  not  deny  that  Xenophanes  held  the 
opinion,  but  that  any  one  held  it  before  him. 


48  THE   ELEATICS. 

carry  tbcm  out,  and  we  have  no  right  to  charge  him  with  con 
sequences  which  he  himself  did  not  draw.  Indeed,  it  is  one  of 
the  greatest  and  commonest  of  critical  errors,  to  charge  the  ori 
ginator  or  supporter  of  a  doctrine  with  consequences  which  he 
did  not  see,  or  would  not  have  accepted  had  he  seen  them. 
Because  they  may  be  contained  in  his  principles,  it  by  no  means 
follows  that  he  saw  them.  A  man  would  be  ridiculed  if  he 
attributed  to  the  discoverer  of  any  law  of  nature  the  various  dis 
coveries  which  the  application  of  that  law  might  have  produced  ; 
nevertheless  these  applications  were  all  potentially  existing  in 
the  law  ;  but  as  the  discoverer  of  the  law  was  not  aware  of  them, 
he  does  not  get  the  credit.  Why,  then,  should  a  man  have  the 
rfw-credit  of  conseqences  contained,  indeed,  in  his  principles,  but 
which  he  himself  could  not  see?  On  the  whole,  although 
Xenophanes  was  not  a  clear  and  systematic  thinker,  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  he  exercised  a  very  remarkable  influence  on  the 
progress  of  speculation ;  as  we  shall  see  in  his  successors. 

§  III.  PARMENIDES. 

The  readers  of  Plato  will  not  forget  the  remarkable  dialogue 
in  which  he  pays  a  tribute  to  the  dialectical  subtlety  of  Par- 
menides ;  but  we  must  at  the  outset  caution  them  against  any 
belief  in  the  genuineness  of  the  opinions  attributed  to  him  by 
Plato.  If  Plato  could  reconcile  to  himself  the  propriety  of  alter 
ing  the  sentiments  of  his  beloved  master,  Socrates,  and  of 
attributing  to  him  such  as  he  had  never  entertained ;  with  far 
greater  reason  could  he  put  into  the  mouth  of  one  long  dead, 
sentiments  which  were  the  invention  of  his  own  dramatic  genius. 
Let  us  read  the  Parmenides,  therefore,  with  extreme  caution ; 
let  us  prefer  the  authority  of  Aristotle  and  the  verses  of  Parmen 
ides  which  have  been  preserved. 

Parmenides  was  born  at  Elea,  somewhere  about  the  Cist 
Olympiad  (B.  c.  536).  This  date  does  not  contradict  the  rumor 
which,  according  to  Aristotle,  asserted  him  to  have  been  a  disci 
ple  of  Xenophanes,  whom  he  might  have  listened  to  when  that 


PARMENIDES.  49 

great  rhapsodist  was  far  advanced  in  years.  The  most  positive 
statement,  however,  is  that  by  Sotion,  of  his  having  been  taught  by 
Ameinias  and  Diochoetes  the  Pythagorean.  But  both  may  be  true. 
Born  to  wealth  and  splendor,  enjoying  the  esteem  and  envy 
which  always  follow  splendor  and  talents,  it  is  conjectured  that 
his  early  career  was  that  of  a  dissipated  voluptuary,  but  Dio- 
chcetes  taught  him  the  nothingness  of  wealth  (at  times,  perhaps, 
when  satiety  had  taught  him  the  nothingness  of  enjoyment),  and 
led  him  from  the  dull  monotony  of  noisy  revelry  to  the  endless 
variety  and  excitement  of  philosophic  thought.  He  forsook  the 
feverish  pursuit  of  enjoyment,  to  contemplate  "  the  bright  coun 
tenance  of  Truth,  in  the  quiet  and  still  air  of  delightful  studies."  * 
But  this  devotion  to  study  was  no  egoistical  seclusion.  It  did 
not  prevent  his  taking  an  active  share  in  the  political  affairs  of 
his  native  city.  On  the  contrary,  the  fruits  of  his  study  were 
shown  in  a  code  of  laws  which  he  drew  up,  and  which  were 
deemed  so  wise  and  salutary,  that  the  citizens  at  first  yearly 
renewed  their  oath  to  abide  by  the  laws  of  Parmenides. 

"  And  something  greater  did  his  worth  obtain, 
For  fearless  virtue  bringeth  boundless  gain." 

The  first  characteristic  of  his  philosophy,  is  the  decided  dis 
tinction  between  Truth  and  Opinion :  in  other  words,  between 
the  ideas  obtained  through  the  Reason  and  those  obtained 
through  Sense.  In  Xenophanes  we  noticed  a  vague  glimmering 
of  this  notion ;  in  Parmenides  it  attained  to  something  like 
clearness.  In  Xenophanes  it  contrived  to  throw  an  uncertainty 
over  all  things ;  which,  in  a  logical  thinker,  would  become 
absolute  skepticism.  But  he  was  saved  from  skepticism  by  his 
faith.  Parmenides  was  saved  from  it  by  his  philosophy.  He 
was  perfectly  aware  of  the  deceitful  nature  of  opinion  ;  but  he  was 
also  aware  that  within  him  there  was  certain  ineradicable  convic 
tions,  in  which,  like  Xenophanes,  he  had  perfect  faith,  but  which 
he  wished  to  explain  by  reason.  Thus  was  he  led  in  some  sort  to 

*  Milton. 
'     3 


50  THE   ELEATICS. 

anticipate  the  celebrated  doctrine  of  innate  ideas.  These  ideas 
were  concerning  necessary  truths ;  they  were  true  knowledge : 
all  other  ideas  were  uncertain. 

The  Eleatics,  as  Hitter  remarks,  believed  that  they  recognized 
and  could  demonstrate  that  the  truth  of  all  things  is  one  and 
unchangeable ;  perceiving,  however,  that  the  human  faculty  of 
thought  is  constrained  to  follow  the  appearance  of  things,  and 
to  apprehend  the  changeable  and  the  many,  they  were  forced  to 
confess  that  we  are  unable  fully  to  comprehend  the  divine  truth 
in  its  reality,  although  we  may  rightly  apprehend  a  few  general 
principles.  Nevertheless,  to  suppose,  in  conformity  with  human 
thought,  that  there  is  actually  both  a  plurality  and  a  change,  would 
be  but  a  delusion  of  the  senses.  While,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
must  acknowledge,  that  in  all  that  appears  to  us  as  manifold  and 
changeable,  including  all  particular  thought  as  evolved  in  the 
mind,  the  Godlike  is  present,  unperceived  indeed  by  human 
blindness,  and  become,  as  it  were  beneath  a  veil,  indistinguishable. 

We  may  make  this  conception  more  intelligible  if  we  recall 
the  mathematical  tendency  of  the  whole  of  this  school.  Their 
knowledge  of  Physics  was  regarded  as  contingent — delusive. 
Their  knowledge  of  Mathematics  eternal — self-evident.  Par- 
menides  was  thus  led  by  Xenophanes  on  the  one  hand,  and  Dio- 
choetes  on  the  other,  to  the  conviction  of  the  duality  of  human 
thought.  His  Reason,  i.  e.  the  Pythagorean  logic,  taught  him 
that  there  is  naught  existing  but  The  One  (which  he  did  not, 
with  Xenophanes,  call  God  ;  he  called  it  Being).  His  Sense,  on 
the  other  hand,  taught  him  that  there  were  Many  Things,  be 
cause  of  his  manifold  sensuous  impressions.  Hence  he  main 
tained  two  Causes  and  two  Principles :  the  one  to  satisfy  the 
Reason ;  the  other  to  accord  with  the  explanations  of  Sense. 
His  work  on  "  Nature"  was  therefore  divided  into  two  parts :  in 
the  first  is  expounded  the  absolute  Truth,  as  Reason  proclaims 
it ;  in  the  second,  human  Opinion,  accustomed  to 

"Follow  the  rash  eye,  and  ears  with  singing  sounds  confused,  and  tongue," 
which  is  but  a  mere  seeming  (^ofa,  appearance) ;  nevertheless 


PARMENIDES.  51 

there  is  a  cause  of  this  seeming;  there  is  also  a  principle,  conse 
quently  there  is  a  doctrine  appropriate  to  it. 

It  must  not  be  imagined,  that  Parmenides  had  a  mere  vague 
and  general  notion  of  the  uncertainty  of  human  knowledge.  He 
maintained  that  thought  was  delusive  because  dependent  upon 
organization.  He  had  as  distinct  a  conception  of  this  celebrated 
theory  as  any  of  his  successors,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  passage 
preserved  by  Aristotle  in  the  5th  chapter  of  the  4th  book  of  his 
Metaphysics,  where,  speaking  of  the  materialism  of  Democritus, 
in  whose  system  sensation  was  thought,  he  adds,  that  others  have 
shared  this  opinion,  and  proceeds  thus :  "  Empedocles  affirms, 
that  a  change  in  our  condition  (<n)v  s'giv)  causes  a  change  in 
our  thought : 

u  '  Thought  grows  in  men  according  to  the  impression  of  the  moment;'* 
and,  in  another  passage,  he  says  : 

"  '  It  is  always  according  to  the  changes  which  take  place  in  men 
That  there  is  change  in  their  thoughts.'  " 

Parmenides  expresses  himself  in  the  same  style : 

"Such  as  to  each  man  is  the  nature  of  his  many-jointed  limbs, 
Such  also  is  the  intelligence  of  each  man  ;  for  it  is 
The  nature  of  limbs  (organization)  which  thinketh  in  men, 
Both  in  one  and  in  all ;  for  the  highest  degree  of  organization 
gives  the  highest  degree  of  thought."t 

Now,  as  thought  was  dependent  on  organization,  and  as  each 


*  ITpdj  Traptbv  yap  HTJTIS  ai^trai  avQp&Ttotai. 

t  The  last  sentence,  "for  the  highest  degree  of  organization  gives  the 
highest  degree  of  thought,"  is  a  translation  which,  diifering  from  that  of 
every  other  we  have  seen,  and  being,  as  we  believe,  of  some  importance  in 
the  interpretation  of  Parmenides'  system,  it  is  necessary  to  state  at  full  our 
reasons.  Here  is  the  original  of  the  verses  in  the  text: 


'I2y  yap  tKaaros  ?£«  tcpaviv 
Tuif  vrfof  dvdpuTTQtci  irapioTTjKtv.     To  yap  aM 
"E<mv  STTtp  <f>pov(£i  ii(.\i<j)v  <f>vats  avdp&Trotai) 
Kut  irdaiv,  Kal  iravri'  rb  yap  i:\iov  tari  vdrjua. 

The  last  sentence  Eitter  translates— 

"  For  thought  is  the  fulness." 
Objecting  to  Hegel's  version  of  rd  vXlov,  "  the  most,"  and  to  that  of  Brandis, 


52  THE    ELEATICS. 

organization  differed  in  degree  from  every  other,  so  would  the 
opinions  of  men  differ.  If  thought  be  sensation,  it  requires  but 
little  reflection  to  show,  that,  as  sensations  from  the  same  object 
differ  according  to  the  senses  of  different  persons,  and  indeed 
differ  at  different  times  with  the  same  person,  therefore  one 
opinion  is  not  more  true  than  another,  and  all  are  equally  false. 
But  Reason  is  the  same  in  all  men :  that  alone  is  the  fountain  of 
certain  knowledge.  All  thought  derived  from  sense  is  but  a 


"the  mightier,"  Kitter  says  the  meaning  is  "  the  full."  But  we  shall  then 
want  an  interpretation  of  "  the  full."  What  is  it?  He  elsewhere  slightly 
alters  the  phrase  thus  : 

"  The  fulness  of  all  being  is  thought." 

We  speak  with  submission,  but  it  appears  to  us  that  Kitter'  s  assertion  re 
specting  TO  ;rAfoj>  meaning  "  the  full,"  or  "  the  fulness,"  is  unwarrantable. 
The  ordinary  meaning  is  certainly  "the  more"  or  "the  most,"  and  hence 
used  occasionally  to  signify  perfection,  as  in  Theocritus: 


Kai  T«J  puKohticas  tirl  TO  ir\iov  IKEO  fiuaas.  —  My.  i.  20. 

When  Parmenides,  therefore,  uses  the  phrase  TO  ir\iov  hrl  voipa,  he  seems  to 
us  to  have  the  ordinary  meaning  in  view  ;  he  speaks  of  TU  ir\iov  as  a  necessary 
consequence  of  the  TroXu/ra/^Trros.  Man  has  many-jointed  limbs,  ergo  many 
sensations;  if  he  had  more  limbs  he  would  have  more  sensations  ;  the  high 
est  degree  of  organization  gives  the  highest  degree  of  thought.  This  ex 
planation  is  in  conformity  with  what  Aristotle  says  on  introducing  the  pas 
sage;  is  in  conformity  with  the  line  immediately  preceding: 

"EffTiv  birtp  Qpovfti  ptA/iov  <pvffi$  dvOpuTToiai  ; 

is  in  conformity  with  the  explanation  of  the  scholiast  Asclepias,  TO  ir\iov  IOTI 
v6r}/*a,  TtpoayiyvtTai  IK  Trjs  TrX/ovoj  uia6/iatus  Kai  a/tpifccrrt'pas  ;  and,  finally,  is  in 
conformity  with  the  opinion  attributed  to  Parmenides  by  Plutarch,  that 
"  sentir  et  penser  ne  lui  paraissaient  choses  distinctes,  ni  entre  eUes  ni  de 
1'  organisation."  ! 

It  is  on  this  account  we  reject  the  reading  of  TroXuTrXayxrwv,  "  far-wander 
ing,"  in  place  of  woXu*c«>nrwv,  "many-jointed,"  suggested  by  Karsten.  The 
change  is  arbitrary  and  for  the  worse  ;  woAwwAdyicrwv  having  reference  only  to 
the  feet,  whereas  the  simile  in  Parmenides  is  meant  to  apply  to  the  whole 
man. 

The  meaning  of  the  verses  is,  therefore,  that  the  intelligence  of  man  is 
formed  according  to  his  many-jointed  frame,  i.  e.  dependent  on  his  organ 
ization. 


i  Ch.  Renouvier,  Manuel  de  la  Philosophic  Ancienne,  i.  152,  who  cites  Plutarch, 
Opin.  des  Wittos.  iv.  5. 


PARMENIDES.  53 

seeming  (£o£a) ;  but  thought  derived  from  Reason  is  absolutely 
true.  Hence  his  antithesis  to  5of a  is  always  letting,  faith. 

This  is  the  central  point  in  his  system.  He  was  thereby  ena 
bled  to  avert  absolute  skepticism,  and  at  the  same  time  to  admit 
the  uncertainty  of  ordinary  knowledge.  He  had  therefore  two 
distinct  doctrines,  each  proportioned  to  the  faculty  adapted  to  it. 
One  doctrine,  of  Absolute  Knowledge  (Metaphysics,  JASTO,  TO, 
(purfjxa),  with  which  the  faculty  of  pure  Reason  was  concerned, 
a  doctrine  called  in  the  language  of  that  day,  the  "  science  of 
Being."  The  other  doctrine,  of  Relative  Knowledge,  or  Opinion 
(Physics,  rot  qoutrtxa),  with  which  the  faculty  of  Intelligence,  or 
Thought,  derived  from  Sense,  was  concerned,  and  which  may  be 
called  the  Science  of  Appearance. 

On  the  science  of  Being,  Parmenides  did  not  differ  much  from 
his  predecessors,  Xenophanes  and  Pythagoras.  He  taught  that 
the,re  was  but  one  Being ;  non-Being  was  impossible.  The  latter 
assertion  amounts  to  saying  that  non-existence  cannot  exist ;  a 
position  which  may  appear  extremely  trivial  to  the  reader  not 
versed  in  metaphysical  speculations ;  but  which  we  would  not 
have  him  despise,  inasmuch  as  it  is  a  valuable  piece  of  evidence 
respecting  the  march  of  human  opinion.  It  is  only  one  of  the 
many  illustrations  of  the  tendency  to  attribute  positive  qualities 
to  words,  as  if  they  were  things,  and  not  simply  marks  of  things ; 
a  tendency  admirably  exposed  by  James  Mill,  and  subsequently 
by  his  son.*  It  was  this  tendency  which  so  greatly  puzzled  the 
early  thinkers,  who,  when  they  said  that  "  a  thing  is  not,"  be 
lieved  that  they  nevertheless  predicated  existence,  viz.  the  ex 
istence  of  non-existence.  A  thing  is,  and  a  thing  is  not  ;  these 

*  "  Many  volumes  might  be  filled  with  the  frivolous  speculations  concern 
ing  the  nature  of  Being  (rd  tv,  ovaia,  Ens,  Entitas,  Essentia,  and  the  like), 
which  have  arisen  from  overlooking  this  double  meaning  of  the  words  to  be  ; 
from  supposing  that  when  it  signifies  to  exist,  and  when  it  signifies  to  be  some 
specified  thing,  as  to  be  a  man,  to  be  Socrates,  to  be  seen,  to  be  a  phantom,  or 
even  to  be  a  nonentity,  it  must  still  at  the  bottom  answer  to  the  same  idea ; 
and  that  a  meaning  must  be  found  for  it  which  shall  suit  all  these  cases." — 
John  Mill,  System  of  Logic,  i.  4,  first  ed. 


5i  THE    ELEATICS. 

two  assertions  seemed  to  be  affirmations  of  two  different  states  of 
existence ;  an  error  from  which,  under  some  shape  or  other,  later 
thinkers  have  not  always  been  free. 

Parmenides,  however,  though  affirming  that  Being  alone  ex 
isted  and  that  non-Being  was  impossible,  did  not  see  the  real 
ground  of  the  sophism.  He  argued  that  Non-Being  could  not  be, 
because  Nothing  can  come  out  of  Nothing  (as  Xeuophanes  taught 
him) ;  if  therefore  Being  existed,  it  must  embrace  all  existence. 

Hence  he  .concluded  that  The  One  was  all  Existence,  identical, 
unique,  neither  born  nor  dying,  neither  moving  nor  changing.  It 
was  a  bold  step  to  postulate  the  finity  of  the  One,  Xenophanes 
having  declared  it  to  be  necessarily  infinite.  But  there  is  abund 
ant  evidence  to  prove  that  Parmeuides  regarded  The  One  as  finite. 
Aristotle  speaks  of  it  as  the  distinction  between  Parmenides  and 
Melissus :  "  The  unity  of  Parmenides  was  a  rational  unity  (<rou 
xara  Xoyov  £vos) ;  that  of  Melissus  was  a  material  unity  (TOU  XCXTU 
<n}v  uXrjv).  Hence  the  former  said  that  The  One  was  finite 
(•7r/£<7r£pao>s'vov),  but  the  latter  said  it  was  infinite  (owrsjpov)." 
From  which  it  appears  that  the  ancients  conceived  the  Rational 
unity  as  limited  by  itself;  a  conception  it  is  difficult  for  us  to 
understand.  Probably  it  was  because  they  held  The  One  to  be 
spherical :  all  the  parts  being  equal :  having  neither  beginning, 
middle,  nor  end :  and  yet  self-limited. 

The  conception  of  the  identity  of  thought  and  existence  is  ex 
pressed  in  some  remarkable  verses  by  Parmenides,  of  \vhich,  as  a 
very  different  interpretation  has  been  drawn  from  them,  we  shall 
give  a  literal  translation  : 

"  Thought  is  the  same  thing  as  the  cause  of  thought: 
For  without  the  thing  in  which  it  is  announced 
You  cannot  find  the  thought;  for  there  is  nothing,  nor  shall  be — 
Except  the  existing." 

Now,  as  the  only  Existence  was  The  One,  it  follows  that  The 
One  and  Thought  are  identical ;  a  conclusion  which  by  no  means 
contradicts  the  opinion  before  noticed  of  the  identity  of  human 
thought  and  sensation,  both  of  these  being  merely  transitory 
modes  of  Existence. 


ZENO    OF    ELEA.  55 

Respecting  the  second  or  physical  doctrine  of  Parmenides,  we 
may  briefly  say  that,  believing  it  necessary  to  give  a  science  of 
Appearances,  he  sketched  out  a  programme  according  to  the 
principles  reigning  in  his  day.  He  denied  motion  in  the  abstract, 
but  admitted  that  according  to  appearance  there  was  motion. 

Parmenides  represents  the  logical  and  more  rigorous  side  of 
the  doctrine  of  Xenophanes,  from  which  the  physical  element  is 
almost  banished,  by  being  condemned  to  the  region  of  uncer 
tain  Sense,  Knowledge.  The  ideal  element  alone  was  really 
nourished  by  the  speculations  of  Parmenides.  Although  he  pre 
served  himself  from  skepticism,  as  we  saw,  nevertheless  the 
tendency  of  his  doctrine  was  to  forward  skepticism.  In  his  expo 
sition  of  the  uncertainty  of  knowledge,  he  retained  a  saving- 
clause, — that,  namely,  of  the  certainty  of  Reason.  It  only  re 
mained  for  successors  to  apply  the  same  skepticism  to  the  ideas 
of  Reason,  and  Pyrrhonism  was  complete. 

§  IV.  ZENO  OF  ELBA. 

Zeno,  by  Plato  called  the  Palamedes  of  Elea,  must  not  be  con 
founded  with  Zeno  the  Stoic.  He  was  on  all  accounts  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  of  the  ancient  philosophers ;  as  great  in  his 
actions  as  in  his  works',  and  remarkable  in  each  for  a  strong,  im 
petuous,  disinterested  spirit.  Born  at  Elea  about  the  70th  Olym 
piad  (B.  c.  500),  he  became  the  pupil  of  Parmenides,  and,  as  some 
say,  his  adopted  son. 

The  first  period  of  his  life  was  spent  in  the  calm  solitudes  of 
study.  From  his  beloved  friend  and  master  he  had  learned  to 
appreciate  the  superiority  of  intellectual  pleasures — the  only 
pleasures  that  do  not  satiate.  From  him  also  he  had  learned  to 
despise  the  splendors  of  rank  and  fortune,  without  becoming  mis 
anthropical  or  egoistical.  He  worked  for  the  benefit  of  his  fellow- 
men,  but  declined  the  recompense  of  rank,  or  worldly  honors, 
with  which  they  would  have  repaid  those  labors.  His  recom 
pense  was  the  voice  of  his  own  heart,  beating  calmly  in  the 
consciousness  of  its  integrity.  The  absence  of  ambition  in  so 


56  THE   ELEATICS. 

intrepid  and  exalted  a  mind,  might  well  have  been  the  wonder 
ment  of  antiquity  ;  for  it  was  no  skeptical  indifference,  no  disdain 
for  the  opinions  of  his  fellow-men,  which  made  him  shun  office. 
He  was  a  delicate  no  less  than  an  impetuous  man,  extremely 
sensitive  to  praise  and  blame ;  as  may  be  seen  in  his  admirable 
reply  to  one  who  asked  him  why  he  was  so  hurt  by  blame  :  "  If 
the  blame  of  my  fellow-citizens  did  not  cause  me  pain,  their  ap 
probation  would  not  cause  me  pleasure."  In  timid  minds, 
shrinking  from  the  coarse  ridicule  of  fools  and  knaves,  this  sensi 
tiveness  is  fatal ;  but  in  those  brave  spirits  who  fear  nothing  but 
their  own  consciences,  and  who  accept  no  approbation  but  such 
as  their  consciences  can  ratify,  this  sensitiveness  lies  at  the  root 
of  much  heroism  and  noble  endeavor.  One  of  those  men  was 
Zeno.  His  life  was  a  battle,  but  the  battle  was  for  Truth ;  it 
ended  tragically,  but  it  was  not  fought  in  vain. 

Perhaps  of  all  his  moral  qualities  his  patriotism  has  been  the 
most  renowned.  He  lived  at  the  period  of  Liberty's  awakening, 
when  Greece  was  everywhere  enfranchising  herself,  everywhere 
loosening  the  Persian  yoke,  and  endeavoring  to  found  national  in 
stitutions  on  Liberty.  In  the  general  effervescence  and  enthusiasm 
Zeno  was  not  cold.  His  political  activity  we  have  no  means  of 
judging ;  but  we  learn  that  it  was  great  and  beneficial.  Elea  was 
but  a  small  colony ;  but  Zeno  preferred  it  to  the  magnificence  of 
Athens,  whose  luxurious,  restless,  quibbling,  frivolous,  passionate, 
and  unprincipled  citizens  he  contrasted  with  the  provincial  modesty 
and  honesty  of  Elea.  He  did,  however,  occasionally  visit  Athens, 
and  there  promulgated  the  doctrines  of  his  master,  as  we  see  by 
the  opening  of  Plato's  dialogue,  the  Parmenidcs.  There  he 
taught  Pericles. 

On  the  occasion  of  his  last  return  to  Elea,  he  found  it  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  tyrant  Nearchus  (or  Diomedon  or 
Demylos :  the  name  is  differently  given  by  ancient  writers).  He, 
of  course,  conspired  against  him,  failed  in  his  project,  and  was 
captured.  It  was  then,  as  Cicero  observes,  that  he  proved  the 
excellence  of  his  master's  doctrines,  and  proved  that  a  coura- 


ZENO    OF   ELEA.  57 

geous  soul  fears  only  that  which  is  base,  and  that  fear  and  pain 
are  for  women  and  children,  or  men  who  have  feminine  hearts. 
When  Nearchus  interrogated  him  as  to  his  accomplices,  he  threw 
the  tyrant  into  an  agony  of  doubt  and  fear  by  naming  all  the 
courtiers  :  a  master-stroke  of  audacity,  and  in  those  days  not  dis 
creditable.  Having  thus  terrified  his  accuser,  he  turned  to  the 
spectators,  and  exclaiming,  "  If  you  can  consent  to  be  slaves  from 
fear  of  what  you  see  me  now  suffer,  I  can  only  wonder  at  your 
cowardice."  So  saying,  he  bit  his  tongue  off,  and  spat  it  in  the 
face  of  the  tyrant.  The  people  were  so  roused  that  they  fell  upon 
Nearchus  and  slew  him. 

There  are  considerable  variations  in  the  accounts  of  this  story 
by  ancient  writers,  but  all  agree  in  the  main  narrative  given 
above.  Some  say  that  Zeno  was  pounded  to  death  in  a  huge 
mortar.  We  have  no  trustworthy  account  of  his  death. 

As  a  philosopher,  Zeno's  merits  are  peculiar.  He  was  the  in 
ventor  of  that  logic  so  celebrated  as  Dialectics.  This,  which,  in 
the  hands  of  Socrates  and  Plato,  became  a  powerful  weapon  of 
offence,  is,  by  the  universal  consent  of  antiquity,  ascribed  to  Zeno. 
It  may  be  defined  as  "  A  refutation  of  error  by  the  reductio  ad 
absurdum  as  a  means  of  establishing  the  truth."  The  truth  to 
be  established  in  Zeno's  case  was  the  system  of  Parmenides ;  we 
must  not,  therefore,  seek  in  his  arguments  for  any  novelty  beyond 
the  mere  exercise  of  dialectical  subtlety.  He  brought  nothing- 
new  to  the  system ;  but  he  invented  a  great  method  of  polemical 
exposition.  The  system  had  been  conceived  by  Xenophanes ; 
precision  had  been  given  to  it  by  Parmenides ;  and  there  only 
remained  for  Zeno  the  task  of  fighting  for  and  defending  it ; 
which  task  he  admirably  fulfilled.  "  The  destiny  of  Zeno  was 
altogether  polemical.  Hence,  in  the  external  world,  the  impet 
uous  existence  and  tragical  end  of  the  patriot;  and,  in  the 
internal  world,  the  world  of  thought,  the  laborious  character  of 
Dialectician."  * 

It  was  this  fighter's  destiny  which  caused  him  to  perfect  the 

*  Cousin,  Fragmens  PhilosopJiiques,  art.  Zenon  d?Elee. 
30 


58  THE   ELEATICS. 

art  of  offence  and  defence.  He  very  naturally  wrote  in  prose ; 
of  which  he  set  the  first  example :  for,  as  the  wild  and  turbulent 
enthusiasm  of  Xenophanes  would  instinctively  express  itself  in 
poetry,  so  would  the  argumentative  subtlety  of  Zeno  naturally 
express  itself  in  prose.  The  great  Rhapsodist  wandered  from 
city  to  city,  intent  upon  earnest  and  startling  enunciation  of  the 
mighty  thoughts  stirring  confusedly  within  him ;  the  great  Lo 
gician  was  more  intent  upon  a  convincing  exposition  of  the 
futility  of  the  arguments  alleged  against  his  system,  than  upon 
any  propagande  of  the  system  itself;  for  he  held  that  the  truth 
must  be  accepted  when  once  error  is  exposed.  "  Antiquity," 
says  M.  Cousin,  "  attests  that  he  wrote  not  poems,  like  Xeno 
phanes  and  Parmenides,  but  treatises,  and  treatises  of  an  emi 
nently  prosaic  character :  that  is  to  say,  refutations." 

The  reason  of  this  may  be  easily  guessed.  Coming  as  a  young 
man  to  Athens,  to  preach  the  doctrine  of  Parmenides,  he  must 
have  been  startled  at  the  opposition  which  that  doctrine  met 
with  from  the  subtle,  quick-witted,  and  empirical  Athenians, 
who  had  already  erected  the  Ionian  philosophy  into  the  reigning 
doctrine.  Zeno,  no  doubt,  was  at  first  stunned  by  the  noisy  ob 
jections  which  on  all  sides  surrounded  him ;  but,  being  also  one 
of  the  keenest  of  wits,  and  one  of  the  readiest,  he  would  soon 
have  recovered  his  balance,  and  in  turn  assailed  his  assailers. 
Instead  of  teaching  dogmatically,  he  began  to  teach  dialectically. 
Instead  of  resting  in  the  domain  of  pure  science,  and  expounding 
the  ideas  of  Reason,  he  descended  upon  the  ground  occupied  by 
his  adversaries — the  ground  of  daily  experience  and  sense-knowl 
edge — and  turning  their  ridicule  upon  themselves,  forced  them 
to  admit  that  it  was  more  easy  to  conceive  The  Many  as  a  pro 
duce  of  The  One,  than  to  conceive  The  One  on  the  assumption 
of  the  existing  Many. 

"  The  polemical  method  entirely  disconcerted  the  partisans  of 
the  Ionian  philosophy,"  says  M.  Cousin,  "  and  excited  a  lively 
curiosity  and  interest  for  the  doctrines  of  the  Italian  (Pytha 
gorean)  school ;  and  thus  was  sown,  in  the  capital  of  Greek  civili- 


ZENO   OF   ELEA.  59 

zation,  the  fruitful  germ  of  a  higher  development  of  philos 
ophy." 

Plato  has  succinctly  characterized  the  difference  between  Par- 
menides  and  Zeno  by  saying,  that  the  master  established  the  ex 
istence  of  The  One,  and  the  disciple  proved  the  non-existence  of 
The  Many. 

When  he  argued  that  there  was  but  One  thing  really  existing, 
all  the  others  being  only  modifications  or  appearances  of  that 
One,  he  did  not  deny  that  there  were  many  appearances,  he  only 
denied  that  these  appearances  were  real  existences.  So,  in  like 
manner,  he  denied  motion,  but  not  the  appearance  of  motion. 
Diogenes  the  Cynic,  who,  to  refute  his  arguments  against  motion, 
rose  and  walked,  entirely  mistook  the  argument ;  his  walking 
was  no  more  a  refutation  of  Zeno,  than  Dr.  Johnson's  kicking  a 
stone  was  a  refutation  of  Berkeley's  denial  of  matter.  Zeno 
would  have  answered :  Very  true ;  you  walk :  according  to 
Opinion  (TO  (Jofatfrov)  you  are  in  motion  ;  but  according  to 
Reason  you  are  at  rest.  What  you  call  motion  is  but  the  name 
given  to  a  series  of  similar  conditions,  each  of  which,  separately 
considered,  is  rest.  Thus,  every  object  filling  space  equal  to  its 
bulk  is  necessarily  at  rest  in  that  space ;  motion  from  one  spot 
to  another  is  but  a  name  given  to  the  sum-total  of  all  these  in 
termediate  spaces  in  which  the  object  at  each  moment  is  at  rest. 
Take  the  illustration  of  the  circle :  a  circle  is  composed  of  a 
number  of  individual  points,  or  straight  lines ;  not  one  of  these 
lines  can  individually  be  called  a  circle ;  but  all  these  lines,  con 
sidered  as  a  totality,  have  one  general  name  given  them,  viz.  a 
circle.  In  the  same  way,  in  each  individual  point  of  space,  the 
object  is  at  rest ;  the  sum-total  of  a  number  of  these  states  of 
rest  is  called  motion. 

The  original  fallacy  is  in  the  supposition  that  Motion  is  a  thing 
superadded,  whereas,  as  Zeno  clearly  saw,  it  is  only  a  condition. 
In  a  falling  stone  there  is  not  the  "  stone"  and  a  thing  called 
"motion;"  otherwise  there  would  be  also  another  thing  called 
"rest."  But  both  motion  and  rest  are  names  given  to  express 


60  THE   ELEATICS. 

conditions  of  the  stone.  Even  rest  is  a  positive  exertion  of  force. 
Rest  is  force  resistant,  and  Motion  is  force  triumphant.  It  follows 
that  matter  is  always  in  motion;  which  amounts  to  the  same  as 
Zeno's  saying,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  motion. 

The  other  arguments  of  Zeno  against  the  possibility  of  Motion 
(and  he  maintained  four,  the  third  of  which  we  have  above  ex 
plained,)  are  given  by  Aristotle ;  but  they  seem  more  like  the  in 
genious  puzzles  of  dialectical  subtlety  than  the  real  arguments 
of  an  earnest  man.  It  has,  therefore,  been  asserted,  that  they 
were  only  brought  forward  to  ridicule  the  unskilfulness  of  his 
adversaries.  We  must  not,  however,  be  hasty  in  rescuing  Zeno 
from  his  own  logical  net,  into  which  he  may  have  fallen  as  easily 
as  others.  Greater  men  than  he  have  been  the  dupes  of  their 
own  verbal  distinctions. 

Here  are  his  two  first  arguments : 

1.  Motion  is  impossible,  because  before  that  which  is  in  mo 
tion  can  reach  the  end,  it  must  reach  the  middle  point ;  but  this 
middle  point  then  becomes  the  end,  and  the  same  objection  ap 
plies  to  it — since  to  reach  it  the  object  in  motion  must  traverse 
a  middle  point;  and  so  on  ad  infinitum,  seeing  that  matter  is  in 
finitely  divisible.      Thus,  if  a  stone  be  cast  four  paces,  before 
it  can  reach  the  fourth  it  must  reach  the  second ;  the  second 
then  becomes  the  end,  and  the  first  pace  the  middle  ;  but  before 
the  object  can  reach  the  first  pace,  it  must  reach  the  half  of  the 
first  pace,  and  before  the  half  it  must  reach  the  half  of  that  half; 
and  so  on  ad  in/lnitum. 

2.  This  is  his  famous  Achilles  puzzle.    We  give  both  the  state 
ment  and  refutation  as  we  find  it  in  Mill's  Loyic  (ii.  453). 

The  argument  is,  let  Achilles  run  ten  times  as  fast  as  a  tortoise, 
yet,  if  the  tortoise  has  the  start,  Achilles  will  never  overtake  him ; 
for,  suppose  them  to  be  at  first  separated  by  an  interval  of  a  thou 
sand  feet;  when  Achilles  has  run  these  thousand  feet,  the  tortoise 
will  have  run  a  hundred,  and  when  Achilles  has  run  those  hun 
dred,  the  tortoise  will  have  got  on  ten,  and  so  on  forever :  there 
fore  Achilles  may  run  forever  without  overtaking  the  tortoise. 


ZENO    OF   ELEA.  61 

.Now  the  "forever"  in  the  conclusion  means,  for  any  length  of 
time  that  can  be  supposed ;  but  in  the  premises,  "  forever"  does 
not  mean  any  length  of  time — it  means  any  number  of  subdivisions 
of  time.  It  means  that  we  may  divide  a  thousand  feet  by  ten, 
and  that  quotient  again  by  ten,  and  so  on  as  often  as  we  please ; 
that  there  never  need  be  an  end  to  the  subdivisions  of  the  dis 
tance,  nor,  consequently,  to  those  of  the  time  in  which  it  is  per 
formed.  But  an  unlimited  number  of  subdivisions  may  be  made 
of  that  which  is  itself  limited.  The  argument  proves  no  other 
infinity  of  duration  than  may  be  embraced  within  five  minutes. 
As  long  as  the  five  minutes  are  not  expired,  what  remains  of 
them  may  be  divided  by  ten,  and  again  by  ten,  as  often  as  we 
like,  which  is  perfectly  compatible  with  their  being  only  five 
minutes  altogether.  It  proves,  in  short,  that  to  pass  through 
this  finite  space  requires  a  time  wliich  is  infinitely  divisible,  but 
not  an  infinite  time;  the  confounding  of  which  distinction  Hobbes 
had  already  seen  to  be  the  gist  of  the  fallacy. 

Although  the  credit  of  seeing  the  ground  of  the  fallacy  is 
given  by  Mill  to  Hobbes,  we  must  also  observe  that  Aristotle  had 
clearly  seen  it  in  the  same  light.  His  answer  to  Zeno,  which 
Bayle  thinks  "pitiable,"  was,  that  a  foot  of  space  being  only  po 
tentially  infinite,  but  actually  finite,  it  could  be  easily  traversed 
in  a  finite  time. 

We  have  no  space  to  follow  Zeno  in  his  various  arguments 
against  the  existence  of  a  multitude  of  things.  His  position  may 
be  briefly  summed  up  thus: — There  is  but  one  Being  existing, 
necessarily  indivisible  and  infinite.  To  suppose  that  The  One 
is  divisible,  is  to  suppose  it  finite.  If  divisible,  it  must  be  infi 
nitely  divisible.  But,  suppose  two  things  to  exist,  then  there 
must  necessarily  be  an  interval  between  those  two ;  something 
separating  and  limiting  them.  What  is  that  something?  It 
is  some  other  thing.  But  then,  if  not  the  same  thing,  it  also 
must  be  separated  and  limited ;  and  so  on  ad  infinitum.  Thus 
only  One  thing  can  exist  as  the  substratum  for  all  manifold  ap 
pearances. 


02  THE   ELEATICS. 

Zeno  closes  the  second  great  line  of  independent  inquiry, 
which,  opened  by  Anaximander,  and  continued  by  Pythagoras, 
Xenophanes,  and  Parmenides,  we  may  characterize  as  the  Math 
ematical  or  Absolute  system.  Its  opposition  to  the  Ionian,  Phy 
sical  or  Empirical  system  was  radical  and  constant.  But,  up  to 
the  coming  of  Zeno,  these  two  systems  had  been  developed  al 
most  in  parallel  lines,  so  little  influence  did  they  exert  upon  each 
other.  The  two  systems  clashed  together  on  the  arrival  of  Zeno 
at  Athens.  The  result  of  the  conflict  was  the  creation  of  a  new 
method — Dialectics.  This  method  created  the  Sophists  and  the 
Skeptics.  It  also  greatly  influenced  all  succeeding  schools,  and 
may  be  said  to  have  constituted  one  great  peculiarity  of  Socrates 
and  Plato,  as  will  be  shown. 

"We  must,  however,  previously  trace  the  intermediate  steps 
which  philosophy  took,  before  the  crisis  of  Sophistry,  which  pre 
ceded  the  era  of  Socrates. 


SECOND  EPOCH. 


SPECULATIONS  ON  THE  CREATION  OF  THE  UNIVERSE,  AND 
ON  THE  ORIGIN  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

§  I.    HERACLITUS. 

"  LIFE  is  a  comedy  to  those  who  think,  a  tragedy  to  those 
who  feel."  This,  Horace  Walpole's  epigram,  may  be  applied  to 
Democritus  and  Heraclitus,  celebrated  throughout  antiquity  as 
the  laughing  and  the  weeping  philosophers : 

"One  pitied,  one  condemn'd  the  woeful  times; 
One  laugh'd  at  follies,  and  one  wept  o'er  crimes." 

Modern  criticism  has  indeed  pronounced  both  these  character 
istics  to  be  fabulous ;  but  fables  themselves  are  often  only  exag 
gerations  of  truth,  and  there  must  have  been  something  in  each 
of  these  philosophers  which  formed  the  nucleus  round  which  the 
fables  grew.  Of  Heraclitus  it  has  been  well  said,  "  The  vulgar 
notion  of  him  as  the  crying  philosopher  must  not  be  wholly  dis 
carded,  as  if  it  meant  nothing,  or  had  no  connection  with  the 
history  of  his  speculations.  The  thoughts  which  came  forth  in 
his  system  are  like  fragments  torn  from  his  own  personal  being, 
and  not  torn  from  it  without  such  an  effort  and  violence  as  must 
needs  have  drawn  a  sigh  from  the  sufferer.  If  Anaximenes  dis 
covered  that  he  had  within  him  a  power  and  principle  which 
ruled  over  all  the  acts  and  functions  of  his  bodily  frame,  Herac- 


64:  HERACLITUS. 

litus  found  that  there  was  a  life  within  him  which  he  could  not 
call  his  own,  and  yet  it  was,  in  the  very  highest  sense,  himself, 
so  that  without  it  he  would  have  been  a  poor,  helpless,  isolated 
creature ; — a  universal  life,  which  connected  him  with  his  fellow- 
men, — with  the  absolute  source  and  original  fountain  of  life."* 

Heraclitus  was  the  son  of  Ely  son,  and  was  born  at  Ephesus, 
about  the  G9th  Olympiad  (B.  c.  503).  Of  a  haughty,  melan 
choly  temper,  he  refused  the  supreme  magistracy  which  his  fel 
low-citizens  offered  him,  on  account,  according  to  Diogenes 
Laertius,  of  their  dissolute  morals ;  but  as  he  declined  the  offer 
in  favor  of  his  brother,  we  are  disposed  to  think  his  rejection  was 
grounded  on  some  other  cause.  Is  not  his  rejection  of  magistracy 
in  perfect  keeping  with  what  else  we  know  of  him  ?  For  in 
stance  :  playing  with  some  children  near  the  temple  of  Diana, 
he  answered  those  who  expressed  surprise  at  seeing  him  thus 
occupied,  "Is  it  not  better  to  play  with  children,  than  to  share 
with  you  the  administration  of  affairs  ?"  The  contempt  which 
pierces  through  this  reply,  and  which  subsequently  grew  into 
confirmed  misanthropy,  may  have  been  the  result  of  morbid 
meditation,  rather  than  of  virtuous  scorn.  Was  it  because  the 
citizens  were  corrupt,  that  he  refused  to  exert  himself  to  make 
them  virtuous  ?  Was  it  because  the  citizens  were  corrupt,  that 
he  retired  to  the  mountains,  and  there  lived  on  herbs  and  roots, 
like  an  ascetic  ?  If  Ephesus  was  dissolute,  was  there  not  the  rest 
of  Greece  for  him  to  make  a  home  of?  lie  fled  to  the  moun 
tains,  that  he  might  there,  in  secret,  prey  on  his  own  heart.  He 
was  a  misanthrope,  and  misanthropy  is  madness,  not  virtuous  in 
dignation  ;  misanthropy  issues  from  the  morbid  consciousness  of 
self,  not  from  the  sorrowful  opinion  formed  of  others.  The  aim 
of  his  life  had  been  to  explore  the  depths  of  his  own  nature. 
This  has  been  the  aim  of  all  ascetics,  as  of  all  philosophers  :  but 
in  the  former  it  is  morbid  anatomy ;  in  the  latter  it  is  science. 

The  contemptuous  letter  in  which  he  declined  the  courteous 

*  Maurice,  Moral  and  Mdaphysical  Philosophy. 


HEKACLITUS.  65 

invitation  of  Darius  to  spend  some  time  at  his  court,  will  best 
explain  his  character : 

"  Heraditus  of  Ephesus  to  the  Kiny  Darius,  son  of  Hystaspes, 
health  ! 

"  All  men  depart  from  the  paths  of  truth  and  justice.  They 
have  no  attachment  of  any  kind  but  avarice  ;  they  only  aspire  to 
a  vain-glory  with  the  obstinacy  of  folly.  As  for  me,  I  know  not 
malice  ;  I  am  the  enemy  of  no  one.  I  utterly  despise  the  vanity 
of  courts,  and  never  will  place  my  foot  on  Persian  ground.  Con 
tent  with  little,  I  live  as  I  please." 

Misanthropy  was  the  nucleus  of  the  fable  of  Heraclitus  as  a 
weeping  philosopher,  who  refused  the  magistracy  because  the 
citizens  were  corrupt.  The  story  of  his  attempting  to  cure  him 
self  of  a  dropsy  by  throwing  himself  on  a  dunghill,  hoping  that 
the  heat  would  cause  the  water  within  him  to  evaporate,  is  apoc 
ryphal. 

The  Philosophy  of  Heraclitus  was,  and  is,  the  subject  of  dis 
pute.  He  expressed  himself  in  such  enigmatical  terms,  that  he 
was  called  "  the  Obscure."  A  few  fragments  have  been  handed 
down  to  us.*  From  these  it  would  be  vain  to  hope  that  a  con 
sistent  system  could  be  evolved ;  but  from  them,  and  from  other 
sources,  wre  may  gather  the  general  tendency  of  his  doctrines. 

The  tradition  which  assigns  him  Xenophanes  as  a  teacher,  is 
borne  out  by  the  evident  relation  of  their  systems.  Heraclitus  is 
somewhat  more  Ionian  than  Xenophanes  :  that  is  to  say,  in  him 
the  physical  explanation  of  the  universe  is  more  prominent.  At 
the  same  time,  Heraclitus  is  neither  frankly  Ionian  nor  Italian ; 
he  wavers  between  the  two.  The  pupil  of  Xenophanes  Avould 
naturally  regard  human  knowledge  as  a  mist  of  error,  through 
which  the  sunlight  only  gleamed  at  intervals.  But  the  inheritor 
of  the  Ionian  doctrines  would  not  adopt  the  conclusion  of  the 

*  Schleiermacher  has  collected,  and  endeavored  to  interpret  them,  in 
Wolf  and  Buttmann's  Museum  der  AUerthtunswissenschaften,  vol.  i.  part  iii. 


66  ,    HERACLITUS. 

Mathematical  school,  namely,  that  the  cause  of  this  uncertainty 
of  knowledge  is  the  uncertainty  of  sensuous  impressions ;  and 
that  consequently  Reason  is  the  only  fountain  of  truth.  Herac- 
litus  was  not  mathematician  enough  for  such  a  doctrine :  he 
was  led  to  maintain  a  doctrine  directly  opposed  to  it.  He  main 
tained  that  the  senses  are  the  sources  of  all  true  knowledge,  for 
they  drink  in  the  universal  intelligence.  The  senses  deceive 
only  when  they  belong  to  barbarian  souls  :  in  other  words,  the 
ill-educated  sense  gives  false  impressions,  the  rightly-educated 
sense  gives  truth.  Whatever  is  common  is  true  ;  whatever  is 
remote  from  the  common,  i.  e.  the  exceptional,  is  false.  The 
True  is  the  Unhidden.*  Those  whose  senses  are  open  to  receive 
the  Unhidden,  the  Universal,  attain  truth. 

As  if  to  mark  the  distinction  between  himself  and  Xenophaues 
more  forcibly,  he  says :  "  Inhaling  through  the  breath  the  Uni 
versal  Ether,  which  is  Divine  Reason,  we  become  conscious.  In 
sleep  we  are  unconscious,  but  on  waking  we  again  become  intel 
ligent  ;  for  in  sleep,  wThen  the  organs  of  sense  are  closed,  the 
mind  within  is  shut  out  from  all  sympathy  with  the  surrounding 
ether,  the  universal  Reason ;  and  the  only  connecting  medium  is 
the  breath,  as  it  were  a  root,  and  by  this  separation  the  mind 
loses  the  power  of  recollection  it  before  possessed.  Nevertheless 
on  awakening  the  mind  repairs  its  memory  through  the  senses, 
as  it  were  through  inlets;  and  thus,  coming  into  contact  with 
the  surrounding  ether,  it  resumes  its  intelligence.  As  fuel  when 
brought  near  the  fire  is  altered  and  becomes  fiery,  but  on  being 
removed  again  becomes  quickly  extinguished  ;  so  too  the  portion 
of  the  all-embracing  which  sojourns  in  our  body  becomes  more 
irrational  when  separated  from  it ;  but  on  the  restoration  of  this 
connection,  through  its  many  pores  or  inlets,  it  again  becomes 
similar  to  the  whole." 

Can  any  thing  be  more  opposed  to  the  Eleatic  doctrine  ?  That 
system  rests  on  the  certitude  of  pure  Reason ;  this  declares  that 

*  'AX>/0£f  TO  nt  Xf;0ov.  This  kind  of  play  upon  words  is  very  character 
istic  of  metaphysical  thinkers  in  all  ages. 


HERACLITUS.  67 

Reason  left  to  itself,  i.  e.  the  mind  when  it  is  not  nourished  by 
the  senses,  can  have  no  true  knowledge.  The  one  system  is  ex 
clusively  rational,  the  other  exclusively  material ;  but  both  are 
pantheistical,  for  in  both  it  is  the  universal  Intelligence  which 
becomes  conscious  in  man, — a  conception  pushed  to  its  ultimate 
limits  by  Hegel.  Accordingly  Hegel  declares  that  there  is  not 
a  single  point  in  the  Logic  of  Heraclitus  which  he,  Hegel,  has 
not  developed  in  his  Logic. 

The  reader  will  remark  how  in  Heraclitus,  as  in  Parmenides, 
there  is  opened  the  great  question  which  for  so  long  agitated  the 
schools,  and,  which  still  agitates  them, — the  question  respecting 
the  origin  of  our  ideas.  He  will  also  remark  how  the  two  great  % 
parties,  into  which  thinkers  have  divided  themselves  on  the  ques 
tion,  are  typified  in  these  two  early  thinkers.  In  Parmenides 
the  idealist  school,  with  its  contempt  of  sense ;  in  Heraclitus  the 
materialist  school,  with  its  contempt  of  every  thing  not  derived 
from  sensation. 

With  Xenophanes,  Heraclitus  agreed  in  denouncing  the  per 
petual  delusion  which  reigned  in  the  mind  of  man  ;  but  he  placed 
the  cause  of  that  delusion  in  the  imperfection  of  human  Reason, 
not,  as  Xenophanes  had  done,  in  the  imperfection  of  Sense.  He 
thought  that  man  had  too  little  of  the  Divine  Ether  (soul)  within 
him.  Xenophanes  thought  that  the  senses  clouded  the  intellec 
tual  vision.  The  one  counselled  man  to  let  the  Universal  mirror 
itself  in  his  soul  through  the  senses ;  the  other  counselled  him  to 
shut  himself  up  within  himself,  to  disregard  the  senses,  and  to 
commune  only  with  ideas. 

It  seems  strange  that  so  palpable  a  contradiction  between  two 
doctrines  should  ever  have  been  overlooked.  Yet  such  is  the 
fact.  Heraclitus  is  said  to  have  regarded  the  world  of  Sense  as 
a  perpetual  delusion  :  and  this  is  said  in  the  very  latest  and  not 
the  least  intelligent  of  Histories,  to  say  nothing  of  former  works. 
Whence  this  opinion  ?  Simply  from  the  admitted  skepticism  of 
both  Heraclitus  and  Xenophanes  with  respect  to  Phenomena 
(appearances).  It  is  true  they  both  denied  the  certainty  of 


68  HEKACLITCS. 

human  knowledge,  but  they  denied  this  on  different  grounds. 
"  Man  has  no  certain  knowledge,"  said  Heraclitus,  "  but  God  has ; 
and  vain  man  learns  from  God  just  as  the  boy  from  the  man." 
In  his  conception,  human  intelligence  was  but  a  portion  of  the 
Universal  Intelligence ;  but  a  part  can  never  be  otherwise  than 
imperfect.  Hence  it  is  that  the  opinion  of  all  mankind  upon 
any  subject  (common  sense)  must  be  a  nearer  approximation  to 
the  truth  than  the  opinion  of  any  individual ;  because  it  is  an 
accumulation  of  parts,  making  a  nearer  approach  to  the  whole. 

While  therefore  he  maintained  the  uncertainty  of  all  knowl 
edge,  he  also  maintained  its  certainty.  Its  origin  was  Sense; 
being  sensuous  and  individual,  it  \vas  imperfect,  because  indi 
vidual  ;  but  it  was  true  as  far  as  it  went.  The  ass,  he  scornfully 
said,  prefers  thistles  to  gold.  To  the  ass  gold  is  not  so  valuable 
as  thistle.  The  ass  is  at  once  right  and  wrong.  Man  is  equally 
right  and  wrong  in  all  positive  affirmations ;  for  nothing  truly 
iSj  about  which  a  positive  affirmation  can  be  made.  "  All  is," 
he  said,  "  and  all  is  not ;  for  though  in  truth  it  does  come  into 
being,  yet  it  forthwith  ceases  to  be." 

We  are  here  led  to  his  celebrated  doctrine  of  all  things  as  a 
"  perpetual  flux  and  reflux ;"  which  Hegel  declares  to  be  an  an 
ticipation  of  his  own  celebrated  dogma,  Seyn  und  Nichtseyn  ist 
dasselbe :  "Being  and  Non-Being  is  the  same."*  Heraclitus 
conceived  the  principle — ap^ — of  all  things  to  be  Fire.  To 
him  Fire_was  the  type  of  spontaneous  force  and  activity ;  not 
flame,  which  was  only  an  intensity  of  Fire,  but  a  warm,  dry 
vapor — an  Ether ;  this  was  the  beginning.  He  says :  "  The 
wrorld  was  made  neither  by  Godf  nor  man;  and  it  was,  and  is, 

*  Much  of  the  ridicule  which  this  logical  canon  has  excited,  especially  in 
England,  has  been  prompted  by  the  blindest  misunderstanding.  The  laugh 
ers,  misled  by  verbal  ambiguity,  have  understood  Hegel  to  say  that  Exist 
ence  and  Non-Existence  was  one  and  the  same,  as  if  by  Nichtseyn  he  meant 
Nothing.  He  meant  by  Nothing  No  Thing — no  phenomenon.  The  position 
is  perhaps  absurd,  but  it  is  not  for  metaphysicians  to  say  so. 

t  This  is  the  translation  given  in  Hitter  :  it  is  not  however  exact;  ovtc  ns 
Qt&v  is  the  original,  i.  e.  "  neither  one  of  the  Gods,"  meaning  of  course  one 
of  the  polytheistic  Deities. 


HERACLITUS.  69 

and  ever  shall  be,  an  ever-living  fire  in  due  measure  self-enkin 
dled  and  in  due  measure  self-extinguished."  That  this  is  but  a 
modification  of  the  Ionian  system,  the  reader  will  at  once  discern. 
The  Fire,  which  here  stands  as  the  semi-symbol  of  Life  and  In 
telligence,  because  of  its  spontaneous  activity,  is  but  a  modifica 
tion  of  the  Water  of  Thales  and  the  Air  of  Anaximenesj  more 
over,  it  is  only  semi-symbolical.  Those  who  accept  it  as  a  pure 
symbol  overlook  the  other  parts  of  the  system.  The  system 
which  proclaims  the  senses  as  the  source  of  all  knowledge  neces 
sarily  attaches  itself  to  a  material  element  as  the  primary  one. 
At  the  same  time  this  very  system  is  in  one  respect  a  deviation 
from  the  Ionian ;  in  the  distinction  between  sense-knowledge  and 
reflective  knowledge.  Hence  we  placed  Diogenes  of  Apollonia 
as  the  last  of  the  pure  lonians;  although  chronologically  he 
came  some  time  after  Heraclitus,  and  his  doctrine  is  in  many 
respects  the  same  as  that  of  Heraclitus. 

This  Fire  which  is  forever  kindling  into  flame,  and  passing 
into  smoke  and  ashes;  this  restless,  changing  flux  of  things 
which  never  are,  but  are  ever  becoming;  this  he  proclaimed  to 
be  God,  or  the  One. 

Take  his  beautiful  illustration  of  a  river:  "No  one  has  ever 
been  twice  on  the  same  stream ;  for  different  waters  are  con 
stantly  flowing  down ;  it  dissipates  its  waters  and  gathers  them 
again — it  approaches  and  it  recedes — it  overflows  and  falls."  This 
is  evidently  but  a  statement  of  the  flux  and  reflux,  as  in  his 
aphorism  that  "  all  is  in  motion ;  there  is  no  rest  or  quietude." 
Let  us  also  add  here  what  Ritter  says : 

"  The  notion  of  life  implies  that  of  alteration,  which  by  the 
ancients  was  generally  conceived  as  motion.  The  Universal 
Life  is  therefore  an  eternal  motion,  and  therefore  tends,  as  every 
motion  must,  towards  some  end,  even  though  this  end,  in  the 
course  of  the  evolution  of  life,  present  itself  to  us  as  a  mere 
transition  to  some  ulterior  end.  Heraclitus  on  this  ground  sup 
posed  a  certain  longing  to  be  inherent  in  Fire,  to  gratify  which 
it  constantly  transformed  itself  into  some  determinate  form  of 


70  ANAXAGORAS. 

being,  without,  however,  any  wish  to  maintain  it,  but  in  the 
mere  desire  of  transmuting  itself  from  one  form  into  another. 
Therefore,  to  make  worlds  is  Jove's  pastime." 

He  explained  phenomena  as  the  concurrence  of  opposite  ten^ 
dencies  and  efforts  in  the  motion  of  the  ever-living  Fire,  out  of 
which  results  the  most  beautiful  harmony.  All  is  composed  of 
contraries,  so  that  the  good  is  also  evil,  the  living  is  dead,  etc. 
The  harmony  of  the  world  is  one  of  conflicting  impulses,  like 
\  that  of  the  lyre  and  the  bow.  The  strife  between  opposite  ten 
dencies  is  the  parent  of  all  things :  rtoXspos  wavrcov  JJLSV 
stfri  tfav-rwv  Ss  /SatfjXsuj,  xa/  <rou£  fxsv  (tsovs  s6si$S  TOVS  5s 
<rou£  (xsv  SQ-J\QVS  stfoiytfs  <rou£  85  JXsuds'pous.  Nor  is  this  simple  met 
aphor  :  the  strife  here  spoken  of  is  the  splitting  in  two  of  that 
which  is  in  essence  one ;  the  contradiction  which  necessarily  lies 
between  the  particular  and  the  general,  the  result  and  the  force, 
Being  and  Non-Being.  All  life  is  change,  and  change  is  strife. 

Heraclitus  was  the  first  to  proclaim  the  absolute  vitality  of 
Nature,  the  endless  change  of  matter,  the  mutability  and  perish 
ability  of  all  individual  things,  in  contrast  with    the   eternal 
'  Being,  the  supreme  Harmony  whch  rules  over  all. 

The  view  we  have  taken  of  his  doctrines  will  at  once  explain 
the  position  in  which  we  have  placed  them.  He  stands  with  one 
foot  on  the  Ionian  path,  and  with  the  other  on  the  Italian ;  but 
his  attempt  is  not  to  unite  these  two :  his  office  is  negative ;  he 
has  to  criticize  both. 

§  II.  ANAXAGORAS. 

Anaxagoras  is  generally  said  to  have  been  born  at  Clazomena? 
in  Lydia,  not  far  from  Colophon.  Inheriting  from  his  family  a 
splendid  patrimony,  he  seemed  born  to  figure  in  the  State ;  but, 
like  Parmenides,  he  disregarded  all  such  external  greatness,  and 
placed  his  ambition  elsewhere.  Early  in  life,  so  early  as  his 
twentieth  year,  the  passion  for  philosophy  engrossed  him.  Like 
all  young  ambitious  men,  he  looked  with  contempt  upon  the  in 
tellect  exhibited  in  his  native  city.  His  soul  panted  for  the 


ANAXAGOKAS.  71 

capital.  The  busy  activity,  and  the  growing  importance  of 
Athens,  solicited  him.  He  yearned  towards  it,  as  the  ambitious 
youth  in  a  provincial  town  yearns  for  London;  as  all  energy 
longs  for  a  fitting  theatre  on  which  to  play  its  part. 
•  He  came  to  Athens.  It  was  a  great  and  stirring  epoch.  The 
countless  hosts  of  Persia  had  been  scattered  by  a  handful  of 
resolute  men.  The  political  importance  of  Greece,  and  of 
Athens,  the  Queen  of  Greece,  was  growing  to  a  climax.  The 
Age  of  Pericles,  one  of  the  most  glorious  in  the  long  annals  of 
mankind,  was  dawning.  The  Poems  of  Homer  formed  the  sub 
ject  of  literary  conversation,  and  of  silent  enjoyment.  The  early 
triumphs  of  ^Eschylus  had  created  a  Drama,  such  as  still  re 
mains  the  wonder  and  delight  of  scholars  and  critics.  The 
young  Sophocles,  that  perfect  flower  of  antique  art,  was  then  in 
his  bloom,  meditating  on  that  Drama  which  he  was  hereafter  to 
bring  to  perfection  in  the  Antigone  and  the  CEdipus  Rex.  The 
Ionian  philosophy  had  found  a  home  at  Athens;  and  the  young 
Anaxagoras  shared  his  time  with  Homer  and  Anaximenes.* 

Philosophy  soon  obtained  the  supreme  place  in  his  affections. 
The  mysteries  of  the  universe  tempted  him.  He  yielded  himself 
to  the  fascination,  and  declared  that  the  aim  and  purpose  of  his 
life  was  to  contemplate  the  heavens.  All  care  for  his  affairs 
was  given  up.  His  estates  ran  to  waste,  whilst  he  was  solving 
problems.  But  the  day  he  found  himself  a  beggar,  he  exclaimed, 
"  To  Philosophy  I  owe  my  worldly  ruin,  and  my  soul's  pros 
perity."  He  commenced  teaching,  and  he  had  illustrious  pupils 
in  Pericles,  Euripides,  and  Socrates. 

He  was  not  long  without  paying  the  penalty  of  success.     The 


*  By  this  we  no  more  intimate  that  he  was  a  disciple  of  Anaximenes  (as 
some  historians  assert)  than  that  he  was  a  friend  of  Homer.  But  in  some 
such  ambiguous  phrase  as  that  in  the  text,  must  the  error  of  calling  him  the 
disciple  of  Anaximenes  have  arisen.  Brucker's  own  chronology  is  strangely 
at  variance  with  his  statement :  for  he  places  the  birth  of  Anaximenes,  56th 
Olympiad;  that  of  Anaxagoras,  70th  Olympiad:  thus  making  the  master 
fifty-six  years  old  at  the  birth  of  the  pupil ;  and  the  pupil  only  became  such 
in  the  middle  of  his  life. 


72  ANAXAGORAS. 

envy  and  uncharitableness  of  some,  joined  to  the  bigotry  of 
others,  caused  an  accusation  of  impiety  to  be  brought  against 
him.  He  was  tried,  and  condemned  to  death,  but  owed  the 
mitigation  of  his  sentence  into  banishment,  to  the  eloquence  of 
his  friend  and  pupil,  Pericles.  Some  have  supposed  that  the 
cause  of  his  persecution  was  this  very  friendship  of  Pericles; 
and  that  the  statesman  was  struck  at  through  the  unpopular 
philosopher.  The  supposition  is  gratuitous,  and  belongs  rather 
to  the  ingenuity  of  modern  scholarship,  than  to  the  sober  facts 
of  history.  In  the  persecution  of  Anaxagoras  there  is  nothiug 
but  what  was  very  natural ;  it  occurred  afterwards  in  the  case  of 
Socrates,  and  it  has  subsequently  occurred  a  thousand  times  in 
the  history  of  mankind,  as  the  simple  effect  of  outraged  con 
victions.  Anaxagoras  attacked  the  religion  of  his  time :  he  was 
tried  and  condemned  for  his  temerity. 

After  his  banishment  he  resided  in  Lampsacus,  and  there  pre 
served  tranquillity  of  mind  until  his  death.  "  It  is  not  I  who 
have  lost  the  Athenians ;  it  is  the  Athenians  who  have  lost  me," 
was  his  proud  reflection.  He  continued  his  studies,  and  was 
highly  respected  by  the  citizens,  who,  wishing  to  pay  some  mark 
of  esteem  to  his  memory,  asked  him  on  his  death-bed  in  what 
manner  they  could  do  so.  He  begged  that  the  day  of  his  death 
might  be  annually  kept  as  a  holiday  in  all  the  schools  of  Lamp 
sacus.  For  centuries  this  request  was  fulfilled.  He  died  in  his 
seventy-third  year.  A  tomb  was  erected  to  him  in  the  city,  with 
this  inscription : 

"  This  tomb  great  Anaxagoras  confines, 
Whose  mind  explored  the  heavenly  paths  of  Truth." 

His  philosophy  contains  so  many  contradictory  principles,  or 
perhaps  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say,  so  many  contradictory 
principles  are  attributed  to  him,  that  it  would  be  vain  to  attempt 
a  systematic  view  of  them.  We  shall,  as  usual,  confine  ourselves 
to  leading  doctrines. 

On  the  great  subject  of  the  origin  and  certainty  of  our  knowl 
edge,  he  differed  from  Xenophanes  and  Heraclitus.  He  thought, 


ANAXAGORAS. 

with  the  former,  that  all  sense-knowledge  is  delusive ;  and,  with 
the  latter,  that  all  knowledge  comes  through  the  senses.  Here  is 
a  double  skepticism  brought  into  play.  It  has  usually  been  held 
that  these  two  opinions  contradict  each  other ;  that  he  could  not 
have  maintained  both.  Yet  both  opinions  are  tenable.  His  reason 
for  denying  certainty  to  the  senses,  was  the  incapacity  of  distin 
guishing  all  the  real  objective  elements  of  which  things  are  made. 
Thus  the  eye  discerns  a  complex  mass  which  we  call  a  flower ;  but 
discerns  nothing  of  that  of  which  the  flower  is  composed.  In  other 
words,  the  senses  perceive  phenomena,  but  do  not,  and  cannot  ob 
serve  noumena* — an  anticipation  of  the  greatest  discovery  of 
modern  psychology,  though  seen  dimly  and  confusedly  by  Anax- 
agoras.  Perhaps  the  most  convincing  proof  of  his  having  so  con 
ceived  knowledge  is  in  the  passage  quoted  by  Aristotle :  "  Things 
are  to  each  according  as  they  seem  to  him"  (o-n  rojaOVa  aurofg1 
TO,  6Wa,  oTa  av  vtfo\a{3utfi).  What  is  this  but  the  assertion  of  all 
knowledge  being  confined  to  phenomena  ?  It  is  further  strength 
ened  by  the  passage  in  Sextus  Empiricus,  that  "  phenomena  are 
the  criteria  of  our  knowledge  of  things  beyond  sense,"  i.  e.,  things 
inevident  are  evident  in  phenomena  (<r>j£  TWV  d<5?jXwv  xaTaX^sw?, 
rot  qcouvofASva). 

It  must  not,  however,  be  concluded  from  the  above,  that  Anax- 
agoras  regarded  sense  as  the  sole  origin  of  knowledge.  He  held 
that  the  Reason  (Xo'^o^)  was  the  regulating  faculty  of  the  mind, 
as  Intelligence  (vouf)  was  of  the  universe.  The  senses  are  accu 
rate  in  their  reports ;  but  their  reports  are  not  accurate  copies  of 
Things.  They  reflect  objects ;  but  they  reflect  them  as  these 
objects  appear  to  Sense.  Reason  has  to  control  these  impres 
sions,  to  verify  these  reports. 

*  Noumenon  is  the  antithesis  to  Phenomenon,  which  means  Appearance; 
Nouinenon  means  the  Substratum,  or,  to  use  the  scholastic  word,  the  Sub 
stance.  Thus,  as  matter  is  recognized  by  us  only  in  its  manifestations  (phe 
nomena),  we  may  logically  distinguish  those  manifestations  from  the  thing 
manifested  (noumenon).  And  the  former  will  be  the  materia,  circa  quam  ; 
the  latter,  the  materia  in  qua.  Noumenon  is  therefore  equivalent  to  the  Es 
sence  ;  Phenomenon  to  the  Manifestation,. 

4 


74:  ANAXAGORAS. 

Let  us  now  apply  this  doctrine  to  the  explanation  of  some  of 
those  apparently  contradictory  statements  which  have  puzzled  all 
the  critics.  For  instance,  Anaxagoras  says  that  snow  is  not  white 
but  black,  because  the  water  of  which  it  is  composed  is  black. 
Now,  in  this  he  could  not  have  meant  that  snow  did  not  appear 
to  our  senses  white  \  his  express  doctrine  of  sense-knowledge  for 
bids  such  an  interpretation.  But  reason  told  him  that  the  Senses 
gave  inaccurate  reports ;  and,  in  this  instance,  Reason  showed 
him  how  their  report  was  contradictory,  since  the  water  was 
black,  yet  the  snow  white.  Here,  then,  is  the  whole  theory 
of  knowledge  exemplified  :  Sense  asserting  that  snow  is  white  ; 
Reflection  assertino-  that  snow  beino;  made  from  black  water  could 

O  <3 

not  be  white.  He  had  another  illustration — Take  two  liquids, 
white  and  black,  and  pour  the  one  into  the  other  drop  by  drop  : 
the  eye  will  be  unable  to  discern  the  actual  change  as  it  is  gradu 
ally  going  on  ;  it  will  only  discern  it  at  certain  marked  intervals. 
Thus  did  he  separate  himself  at  once  from  Xenophanes  and 
Heraclitus.  From  the  former,  because  admitting  Sense  to  be  the 
only  criterion  of  things,  the  only  source  of  knowledge,  he  could 
not  regard  the  X<tyo£  as  the  unfailing  source  of  truth,  but  merely 
as  the  reflective  power,  whereby  the  reports  of  sense  were  con 
trolled.  From  the  latter,  because  reflection  convinced  him  that 
the  reports  of  the  senses  were  subjectively  true,  but  objectively 
false.*  (Heraclitus  maintained  that  the  reports  of  the  senses  were 
alone  certain.)  Both  Xenophanes  and  Heraclitus  had  principles 
of  absolute  certitude  ;  the  one  proclaimed  Reason,  the  other  Sense, 
to  be  that  principle.  Anaxagoras  annihilated  the  one  by  showing 
that  the  Reason  was  dependent  on  the  senses  for  materials  ;  and 


*  Subjective  and  objective  are  now  almost  naturalized  :  it  may  not  be  su 
perfluous,  nevertheless,  to  explain  them.  The  subject  means  the  "  Mind  of 
the  Thinker"  (Ego),  the  object  means  the  "Thing  thought  of"  (Non-Eyo). 
In  the  above  passage  "  the  reports  of  the  senses  being  subjectively  true," 
means  that  the  senses  truly  inform  us  of  their  impressions  •  but  these  im 
pressions  are  not  at  all  like  the  actual  objects  (as  may  be  shown  by  the  broken, 
appearance  of  a  stick,  half  of  which  is  dipped  in  water),  and  therefore  the 
reports  are  "  objectively  false." 


ANAXAGORAS.  Y5 

he  annihilated  the  other  by  showing  that  the  materials  were  fal 
lacious. 

Having  thus,  not  without  considerable  difficulty,  brought  his 
various  opinions  on  human  knowledge  under  one  system,  let  us 
endeavor  to  do  the  same  for  his  cosmology.  The  principle  of  his 
system  is  thus  announced  :  "Wrongly  do  the  Greeks  suppose  that 
aught  begins  or  ceases  to  be  ;  for  nothing  comes  into  being  or  is 
destroyed  ;  but  all  is  an  aggregation  or  secretion  of  pre-existent 
things  ;  so  that  all  becoming  might  more  correctly  be  called  be 
coming-mixed,  and  all  corruption  becoming  separate."  What  is 
the  thought  here  ?  It  is  that  instead  of  there  being  a  Creation, 
there  was  only  an  arrangement ;  instead  of  one  first  element,  there 
was  an  infinite  number  of  elements.  These  elements  are  the 
celebrated  homoeomericB  : 

"  Ex  aurique  putat  micis  consistere  posse 
Aurum,  et  cle  terris  terrain  concrescere  parvis  ; 
Ignibus  ex  ignem,  humorem  ex  humoribus  esse  ; 
Csetera  consimili  fingit  ratione  putatque."* 

This  singular  opinion  which  maintains  that  flesh  is  made  of 
molecules  of  elementary  flesh,  and  bones  of  elementary  bones, 
and  so  forth,  is  intelligible  when  we  remember  his  theory  of 
knowledge.  The  Sense  discerns  elementary  differences  in  matter, 
and  reflection  confirms  the  truth  of  this  observation.  If  Nothing 
can  proceed  from  Nothing,  all  things  can  be  only  an  arrangement 
of  existing  things  ;  but  when  in  this  Arrangement  certain  things 
are  discovered  to  be  radically  distinguished  from  each  other,  gold 
from  blood  for  example, — either  the  distinction  observed  by  the 
Senses  is  altogether  false,  or  else  the  things  distinguished  must 
be  elements.  But  the  first  horn  of  the  dilemma  is  avoided  by 

*  Lucretius,  i.  839. — 

"  That  gold  from  parts  of  the  same  nature  rose, 
That  earths  do  earth,  fires  fire,  airs  air  compose, 
And  so  in  all  things  else  alike  to  those." — CREECH. 

There  seems  to  be  good  reason  to  believe  that  not  Anaxagoras,  but  Aristotle, 
was  the  originator  of  the  word  homoeomerice.  See  Bitter,  i.  286. 


76  ANAXAGORA.S. 

the  sensuous  nature  of  all  knowledge  ;  if  the  Senses  deceive  us 
in  this  respect,  and  Reason  does  not  indicate  the  deception, 
then  is  knowledge  all  a  delusion;  therefore,  unless  we  adopt 
skepticism,  we  must  abide  by  the  testimony  of  the  Senses,  as  to 
the  distinction  of  things.  But,  having  granted  the  distinction, 
we  must  grant  that  the  things  distinguished  are  elements  ;  if  not, 
whence  the  distinction  ?  Nothing  can  come  of  Nothing ;  blood 
can  only  become  blood,  gold  can  only  become  gold,  mix  them 
how  you  will ;  if  blood  can  become  bone,  then  does  bone  become 
something  out  of  nothing,  for  it  was  not  bone  before,  and  it  is 
bone  now.  But,  as  blood  can  only  be  blood,  and  bone  only  be 
bone,  whenever  they  are  mingled  it  is  a  mingling  of  two  ele 
ments,  homoeomerice. 

In  the  beginning  therefore  there  was  the  infinite  composed  of 
homceomerice,  or  elementary  seeds  of  infinite  variety.  So  far 
from  The  All  being  The  One,  as  Parmeuides  and  Thales  equally 
taught,  Anaxagoras  proclaimed  The  All  to  be  The  Many.  But 
the  mass  of  elements  were  as  yet  unmixed.  What  was  to  mix 
them  1  What  power  caused  them  to  become  arranged  in  one 
harmonious  all-embracing  system  ? 

This  power  Anaxagoras  declared  to  be  Intelligence  (vouj), 
the  moving  force  of  the  Universe.  He  had,  on  the  one  hand,  re 
jected  Fate,  as  an  empty  name ;  on  the  other,  he  rejected  Chance, 
as  being  no  more  than  the  Cause  unperceived  by  human  rea 
soning  (<n}v  T^TJV,  a^Xov  air  lav  avfywrr'/vij  Xo^Kfyt-w).  This  is 
another  remarkable  glimpse  of  what  modern  philosophy  was 
to  establish.  Having  thus  disclaimed  these  two  powers,  so  po 
tent  in  early  speculation,  Fate  and  Chance,  he  had  no  other 
course  left  than  to  proclaim  Intelligence  the  Arranging  Power.* 

This  seems  to  us,  on  the  whole,  the  most  remarkable  specula 
tion  of  all  the  pre-Socratic  epoch  ;  and  indeed  is  so  very  near  the 
philosophic  precision  of  modern  times,  that  it  is  with  difficulty  we 

*  We  have  his  own  words  reported  by  Diogenes,  who  says  that  his  work 
opened  thus  :  "  Formerly  all  things  were  a  confused  mass ;  afterwards,  In 
telligence  coming,  arranged  them  into  worlds." 


ANAXAGORAS.  77 

preserve  its  original  simplicity.  We  will  cite  a  portion  of  the 
fragment  preserved  by  Simplicius,  wherein  Intelligence  is  spok 
en  of: — "Intelligence  (vou^)  is  infinite,  and  autocratic;  it  is 
mixed  up  with  nothing,  but  exists  alone  in  and  for  itself.  Were 
it  otherwise,  were  it  mixed  up  with  any  thing,  it  would  partici 
pate  in  the  nature  of  all  things  ;  for  in  all  there  is  a  part  of  all ; 
and  so  that  which  was  mixed  with  intelligence  would  prevent  it 
from  exercising  power  over  all  things."* — In  this  passage  we 
have  an  expression  of  the  modern  conception  of  the  Deity  acting 
through  invariable  laws,  but  in  no  way  mixed  up  with  the  mat 
ter  acted  on. 

Will  not  the  foregoing  remarks  enable  us  to  meet  Aristotle's 
objection  to  Anaxagoras,  that  "he  uses  Intelligence  as  a  machine,! 
in  respect  to  the  formation  of  the  world  ;  so  that,  when  he  is 
embarrassed  how  to  explain  the  cause  of  this  or  that,  he  intro 
duces  Intelligence ;  but  in  all  other  things  it  is  any  cause  but 
Intelligence  which  produces  things  ?"  Now,  surely  this  is  a  very 
unfair  criticism,  and  could  only  be  valid  against  one  who,  like 
Malebranche,  saw  God  everywhere.  Anaxagoras  assigned  to  In 
telligence  the  great  Arrangement  of  the  homceomerice ;  but  of 
course  he  supposed  that  subordinate  arrangements  were  carried 
on  by  themselves.  The  Christian  thinker  some  centuries  back 
believed  that  the  Deity  created  and  ordained  all  things ;  never 
theless  when  he  burnt  his  fingerr  the  cause  of  the  burn  he  attrib 
uted  to  fire,  and  not  to  God ;  but  when  the  thunder  muttered  in 
the  sky  he  attributed  that  to  no  cause  but  God.  Is  not  this 
similar  to  the  conception  formed  by  Anaxagoras  ?  What  he  can 
explain,  he  does  explain  by  natural  causes ;  whatever  he  is  em 
barrassed  to  explain,  whatever  he  does  not  understand,  he  attrib- 


*  This  passage  perfectly  accords  with  what  Aristotle  says,  De  A/rimd,  i.  2, 
and  Metaph.  i.  7. 

t  This  is  an  allusion  to  the  theatrical  artifice  of  bringing  down  a  God 
from  Olympus,  to  solve  the  difficulty  of  the  denouement,—  the  Dem  ex 
machind  of  Horace.  We  make  this  remark  to  caution  the  reader  against 
supposing  that  the  objection  is  to  a  mechanical  intelligence. 


78  ANAXAGOKAS. 

utes  to  God.  It  is  here  we  see  the  force  of  Anaxagoras's  opinion 
respecting  Chance  as  an  unascertained  cause :  what  others  called 
the  effect  of  Chance,  he  called  the  effect  of  the  universal  Intel 
ligence. 

On  the  same  grounds  we  object  to  the  reasoning  of  Plato. 
Those  who  have  read  the  Phcedo, — and  who  has  not  read  it  in 
some  shape  or  other,  either  in  the  original  diction,  or  in  the  dim 
and  misty  version  of  some  translator  ? — those  who  have  read  the 
Phcedo,  we  say,  will  doubtless  remember  the  passage  in  which 
Socrates  is  made  to  express  his  poignant  disappointment  at  the 
doctrine  of  Anaxagoras,  to  which  he  had  at  first  been  so  attract 
ed.  This  passage  has  an  air  of  authenticity.  It  expresses  a  real 
disappointment,  and  the  disappointment  of  Socrates,  not  merely 
of  Plato.  We  believe  firmly  that  Socrates  is  here  expressing  his 
own  opinion ;  and  it  is  rarely  that  we  can  say  this  of  opinions 
promulgated  by  Plato  under  the  august  name  of  his  master. 
Here  is  the  passage  in  the  misty  version  of  Thomas  Taylor :  we 
make  no  alterations,  otherwise  we  should  hold  ourselves  respon 
sible  for  the  Avhole : 

"  But  having  once  heard  a  person  reading  from  a  certain  book, 
composed  as  he  said  by  Anaxagoras,  when  he  came  to  that  part 
in  which  he  says  that  intellect  orders  and  is  the  cause  of  all 
things,  I  was  delighted  with  this  cause,  and  thought  that  in  a 
certain  respect  it  was  an  excellent  thing  for  intellect  to  be  the 
cause  of  all ;  and  I  considered  if  this  was  the  case,  disposing  in 
tellect  would  adorn  all  things,  and  place  every  thing  in  that 
situation  in  which  it  would  subsist  in  the  best  manner.  If  any 
one  therefore  should  be  willing  to  discover  the  cause  through 
which  every  thing  is  generated  or  corrupted,  or  is,  he  ought  to 
discover  how  it  may  subsist  in  the  best  manner,  or  suffer,  or  per 
form  any  thing  else.  In  consequence  of  this,  therefore,  it  is  proper 
that  a  man  should  consider  nothing  else,  either  about  himself  or 
about  others,  except  that  which  is  the  most  excellent  and  the  best ; 
but  it  is  necessary  that  he  \vho  knows  this  should  also  know  that 
which  is  subordinate,  since  there  is  one  aad  the  same  science  of 


ANAXAGORAS.  79 

both.  But  thus  reasoning  with  myself,  I  rejoiced,  thinking  that 
I  had  found  a  preceptor  in  Anaxagoras  who  would  instruct  me 
in  the  causes  of  things  agreeable  to  my  own  conceptions ;  and 
that  he  would  inform  me  in  the  first  place  whether  the  earth  is 
flat  or  round,  and  afterwards  explain  the  cause  of  its  being  so,  ad 
ducing  for  this  purpose  that  which  is  better,  and  showing  that  it 
is  better  for  the  earth  to  exist  in  this  manner.  And  if  he  should 
say  that  it  is  situated  in  the  middle,  that  he  would  besides  this 
show  that  it  was  better  for  it  to  be  in  the  middle — and  if  he 
should  render  all  this  apparent  to  me,  I  was  so  disposed  as  not 
to  require  any  other  species  of  cause ;  for  I  by  no  means  thought, 
after  he  had  said  that  all  these  were  orderly  disposed  by  intel 
lect,  he  would  introduce  any  other  cause  for  their  subsistence  ex 
cept  that  which  shows  that  it  is  better  for  them  to  exist  in  this 
manner.  Hence  I  thought  that  in  rendering  the  cause  common 
to  each  particular  and  to  all  things,  he  would  explain  that  which 
is  best  for  each,  and  is  the  common  good  of  all.  And  indeed  I 
would  not  have  exchanged  these  hopes  for  a  mighty  gain !  But 
having  obtained  his  books  with  prodigious  eagerness,  I  read  them 
with  great  celerity,  that  I  might  with  great  celerity  know  that 
which  is  best  and  that  which  is  base. 

"  But  from  this  admirable  hope,  my  friend,  I  was  forced  away, 
when  in  the  course  of  my  reading  I  saw  him  make  no  use  of  in 
tellect,  nor  employ  certain  causes  for  the  purpose  of  orderly  dis 
posing  particulars,  but  assign  air,  ether,  and  water,  and  many 
other  things  equally  absurd,  as  the  causes  of  things.  And  he 
appeared  to  me  to  be  affected  in  a  manner  similar  to  him  who 
should  assert  that  all  the  actions  of  Socrates  are  produced  by  in 
tellect  ;  and  afterwards,  endeavoring  to  relate  the  causes  of  each 
particular  action,  should  say  that  I  now  sit  here  because,  in  the 
first  place,  my  body  is  composed  of  bones  and  nerves,  and  that 
the  bones  are  solid  and  are  separated  by  intervals  from  each 
other ;  but  that  the  nerves,  which  are  by  nature  capable  of  in 
tension  and  remission,  cover  the  bones  together  with  the  skin  in 
which  they  are  contained.  The  bones  therefore,  being  suspended 


80  ANAXAGOKAS. 

from  their  joints,  the  nerves,  by  straining  and  relaxing  them, 
enable  me  to  bend  my  limbs  as  at  present ;  and  through  this 
cause  I  here  sit  in  an  inflected  position.  And  again,  should  as 
sign  other  such  like  causes  of  my  now  conversing  with  you, 
namely,  voice,  and  air,  and  hearing,  and  a  thousand  other  partic 
ulars,  neglecting  the  true  cause,  that  since  it  appeared  to  the 
Athenians  better  to  condemn  me  on  this  account,  it  also  appeared 
to  me  better  and  more  just  to  sit  here,  and  thus  abiding,  sustain 
the  punishment  which  they  have  ordained  me ;  for  otherwise,  by 
the  dog,  as  it  appears  to  me,  these  bones  and  nerves  would  have 
been  carried  long  ago  either  into  Megara  or  Boeotia  through  an 
opinion  of  that  which  is  best,  if  I  had  not  thought  it  more  just 
and  becoming  to  sustain  the  punishment  ordered  by  my  country, 
whatever  it  might  be,  than  to  withdraw  myself  and  run  away. 
But  to  call  things  of  this  kind  causes  is  extremely  absurd.  In 
deed,  if  any  one  should  say  that  without  possessing  such  things 
as  bones  and  nerves  I  could  not  act  as  I  do,  he  would  speak  the 
truth ;  but  to  assert  that  I  act  as  I  do  at  present  through  these, 
and  that  I  operate  with  this  intellect,  and  not  from  a  choice  of 
what  is  best,  would  be  an  assertion  full  of  extreme  negligence  and 
sloth  :  for  this  would  be  the  consequence  of  not  being  able  to  col 
lect  by  division  that  the  true  cause  of  a  thing  is  very  different 
from  that  without  which  a  cause  would  not  be  a  cause." 

Now  this  reasoning  we  take  to  be  an  ignoratio  elenchi.  The 
illustration  made  use  of  is  nothing  to  the  purpose,  and  would  be 
admitted  by  Anaxagoras  as  true,  without  in  the  least  impugning 
his  argument. 

The  Intelligence,  which  Anaxagoras  conceived,  was  in  no  wise 
a  moral  Intelligence :  it  was  simply  the  primum  mobile,  the  all- 
knowing  and  motive  force  by  which  the  arrangement  of  the  ele 
ments  was  affected.  Hence  from  a  passage  in  Aristotle,  some 
have  inferred  that  the  vou£  was  only  a  physical  principle,  the  sole 
office  of  which  was  to  set  matter  in  motion.  This  is  an  error 
easy  of  explanation.  Men  are  still  so  accustomed  to  conceive  the 
divine  Intelligence  as  only  a  more  perfect  and  exalted  human 


ANAXAGOKAS.  81 

Intelligence,  that  where  they  see  no  traces  of  the  latter  they  are 
prone  to  question  the  existence  of  the  former.  When  Anaxago- 
ras  says  that  Nous  was  the  creative  principle,  men  instantly 
figure  to  themselves  a  Nous  similar  to  human  intelligence.  On 
examination,  they  find  that  such  an  intelligence  as  they  conceive 
has  no  place  in  the  doctrine,  whereupon  they  declare  that  Intel 
ligence  has  no  place  there ;  the  Nous,  they  aver,  means  no  more 
than  Motion,  and  might  have  been  called  Motion. 

But  fortunately  Simplicius  has  preserved  a  long  passage  from 
the  work  of  Anaxagoras ;  we  have  already  quoted  a  portion  of 
it,  and  shall  now  select  one  or  two  sentences  in  which  the  Nous, 
as  a  cognitive  power,  is  distinctly  set  forth ;  and  we  quote  these 
the  more  readily  because  Ritter,  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  the 
passage,  has  not  translated  it : — "  Intelligence  is,  of  all  things, 
the  subtlest  and  purest,  and  has  entire  knowledge  of  all.  Every 
thing  which  has  a  soul,  whether  great  or  small,  is  governed  by 
the  Intelligence  (vovg  xparsr).  Intelligence  knows  all  things 
(•rrav-ra  lyvw  vouj),  both  those  that  are  mixed  and  those  that  are 
separated ;  and  the  things  which  ought  to  be,  and  the  things 
which  were,  and  those  which  now  are,  and  those  which  will  be ; 
all  are  arranged  by  Intelligence  (tfav-ra  Jiexorfpifl's  vouj*)."  Here 
the  creative,  or  rather  disposing,  faculty  is  not  more  distinctly 
expressed  than  the  cognitive.  The  Nous  both  knows  and  acts : 
this  is  its  duplicate  existence.  A  grand  conception  :  one  seldom 
rivalled  in  ancient  speculation ;  one  so  far  in  advance  of  the  epoch 
as  to  be  a  puzzle  to  all  critics. 

The  relation  in  which  the  system  of  Anaxagoras  stands  to 
other  systems  may  be  briefly  characterized.  The  Infinite  Matter 
of  the  lonians  became  in  his  hands  the  homceomerice.  Instead  of 
one  substance,  such  as  Water,  Air,  or  Fire,  he  saw  the  necessity 
of  admitting  Many  substances.  At  the  same  time,  he  carried  out 

*  It  would  be  needless  after  this  to  refer  to  the  numerous  expressions 
of  Aristotle  in  confirmation.  The  critical  reader  will  do  well  to  consult 
Trenddenburg,  Comment.  Aristot.  de  Anim.,  p.  466  et  seq.  Plato,  in  speaking 
of  the  vovs,  adds  Kal  $vx>'i, —  Craty.,  p.  400. 

4* 


82  A.NAXAGORAS. 

the  Pythagorean  and  Eleatic  principle  of  The  One ;  thus  avoid 
ing  the  dialectical  thrusts  of  Zeno  against  the  upholders  of  The 
Many.  Hegel  and  M.  Cousin  would  call  this  eclecticism ;  and 
in  one  sense  they  would  be  correct ;  but  inasmuch  as  Anaxago- 
ras  was  led  to  his  doctrine  by  the  development  which  the  Ionian 
and  the  Eleatic  principles  had  taken,  and  was  not  led  to  it  by 
any  eclectical  method,  we  must  protest  against  the  application 
of  such  a  name.  There  was  a  truth  dimly  recognized  by  the 
lonians,  namely,  that  the  material  phenomena  are  all  reducible 
to  some  noumenon  or  noumena,  some  ctpx*!-  What  that  Begin 
ning  was,  they  variously  sought.  Anaxagoras  also  sought  it ; 
and  his  doctrine  of  perception  convinced  him  that  it  could  not 
be  One  principle,  but  Many ;  hence  his  homceomerice.  So  far  he 
was  an  Ionian.  But  there  was  also  a  truth  dimly  seen  by  the 
Eleatics,  namely,  that  The  Many  could  never  be  resolved  into 
One ;  and  as  without  One  there  could  not  be  Many,  and  with 
the  Many  only  there  could  not  be  One ;  in  other  words,  as  God 
must  be  The  One  from  whom  the  multiplicity  of  things  is  de 
rived,  the  necessity  of  admitting  The  One  as  The  All  and  the 
Self-existent  was  proved.  This  reasoning  was  accepted  by  Anax 
agoras.  He  saw  that  there  were  Many  things  ;  he  saw  also  the 
necessity  for  The  One.  In  so  far  he  was  an  Eleatic. 

Up  to  this  point  the  two  doctrines  had  been  at  variance :  a 
chasm  of  infinite  depth  yawned  between  them.  Zeno's  invention 
of  Dialectics  was  a  result  of  this  profound  difference.  It  was 
reserved  for  Anaxagoras  to  bridge  over  the  chasm  which  could 
not  be  filled  up.  He  did  so  with  consummate  skill.  He  ac 
cepted  both  doctrines,  with  some  modifications,  and  proclaimed 
the  existence  of  the  Infinite  Intelligence  (The  One)  who  was  the 
Architect  of  the  Infinite  Matter  (homoeomerice,  the  Many).  By 
this  means  he  escaped  each  horn  of  the  dilemma ;  he  escaped 
that  which  gored  the  lonians,  namely,  as  to  ILOW  and  why  the 
Infinite  Matter  became  fashioned  into  worlds  and  beings ;  since 
Matter  by  itself  can  only  be  Matter.  He  escaped  that  which 
gored  the  Eleatics,  as  to  how  and  why  the  Infinite  One,  who  was 


EMPEDOCLES.  83 

pure  and  unmixed,  became  the  Infinite  Many,  impure  and  mixed  ; 
since  one  thing  could  never  be  more  than  one  thing.  It  must 
have  some  one  thing  on  which  to  act,  for  it  cannot  act  upon 
itself.  Anaxagoras  escaped  both  by  his  dualistic  theory  of  Mind 
fashioning,  and  Matter  fashioned. 

A  similar  bridge  was  thrown  by  him  over  the  deep  chasm  sepa 
rating  the  Sensualists  from  the  Rationalists,  with  respect  to  the 
origin  of  knowledge.  He  admitted  both  Sense  and  Reason; 
others  had  only  admitted  either  Sense  or  Reason. 

These  two  points  entitle  Anaxagoras  to  a  very  high  rank  in 
the  history  of  Philosophy ;  and  we  regret  to  see  that  Aristotle 
uniformly  speaks  disparagingly  of  him,  but  we  believe  that  the 
great  Stagirite  did  not  clearly  apprehend  the  force  of  the  doc 
trine  he  was  combating. 


§  III.  EMPEDOCLES. 

We  are  forced  to  differ  from  all  historians  we  have  consulted, 
except  De  Gerando,  who  hesitates  about  the  matter,  respecting 
the  place  occupied  by  Empedocles.  Brucker  classes  him  among 
the  Pythagoreans;  Ritter,  amongst  the  Eleatics ;  Zeller  and 
Hegel,  as  the  precursor  of  the  Atomists,  who  precede  Anaxa 
goras  ;  Renouvier,  as  the  precursor  of  Anaxagoras ;  Tennemann 
placing  Diogenes  of  Apollonia  between  Anaxagoras  and  Em 
pedocles,  but  making  Democritus  precede  them.  When  we 
come  to  treat  of  the  doctrines  of  Empedocles,  we  shall  endeavor 
to  show  the  filiation  of  ideas  from  Anaxagoras.  Meanwhile  it  is 
necessary  to  examine  the  passage  in  Aristotle,  on  which  very 
contradictory  opinions  have  been  grounded. 

In  the  3d  chapter  of  the  1st  book  of  Aristotle's  Metaphysics, 
after  a  paragraph  on  the  system  of  Empedocles,  occurs  this  pass 
age  :  *'  But  Anaxagoras  of  Clazomense  being  superior  to  him 
(Empedocles)  in  respect  of  age,  but  inferior  to  him  in  respect  of 
opinions,  said  that  the  number  of  principles  was  infinite."  By 
"superior"  and  "inferior"  we  preserve  the  antithesis  of  the  origi- 


84:  EMPEDOCLES. 

nal;  but  it  would  be  more  intelligible  to  say,  "older"  and 
"  inferior" 

There  are  two  other  interpretations  of  this  passage.  One  of 
them  is  that  of  M.  Cousin  (after  Hegel),  who  believes  that  the 
antithesis  of  Aristotle  is  meant  to  convey  the  fact  of  Anaxagoras, 
although  older  in  point  of  time,  being  more  recent  in  point  of 
published  doctrine  than  Empedocles,  having  written  after  him. 
This  is  his  translation  :  "  Anaxagoras,  qui  naquit  avant  ce 
dernier,  mais  qui  ecrivit  apres  lui." 

The  second  is  that  adopted  by  M.  Renouvier  from  M.  Ravaisson, 
who  interprets  it  as  meaning  that  the  doctrine  of  Anaxagoras, 
though  more  ancient  in  point  of  publication,  is  more  recent  in 
point  of  thought  ;  i.  e.  more  developed  philosophically,  although 
historically  earlier. 

Now  we  believe  both  these  interpretations  to  be  erroneous. 
There  is  no  ground  for  them  except  the  antithesis  of  Aristotle  ; 
and  the  original  of  this  disputed  passage  is,  'Avafa^o'paj  §=  6 


which  is  rendered  by  MM.  Pierron  and  Zevort  :  "  Anaxagore  de 
Clazomune,  Paine  d'Empedocle,  n'etait  pas  arrive  a  un  systcme 
aussi  plausible"* 

This  agrees  with  our  version.  We  confess  however  that  on  a 
first  glance  M.  Cousin's  version  better  preserves  the  force  of 
the  antithesis  <rrf  /xsv  TjXix/a  tfporspoj  —  rolg  5J  spyus  vtfrepog.  But 
other  reasons  prevent  a  concurrence  in  this  interpretation.  MM. 
Pierron  and  Zevort,  in  their  note  on  the  passage,  remark  :  "  Mais 
les  mots  fc'p/w,  £'pyo»£,  dans  une  opposition,  out  ordinairement  une 
signification  vague,  corame  re,  revera,  chez  les  Latins,  et,  chez 
nous,  en  fait,  en  realite"  The  force  of  the  objection  does  not 
strike  us.  If  Anaxagoras  was  in  fact,  in  reality,  posterior  to 
Empedocles,  we  can  only  understand  this  in  the  sense  M.  Cousin 
has  understood  Aristotle;  and  moreover,  MM.  Pierron  and 
Zevort  here  contradict  their  translation,  which  says  that,  in  point 

*  La  M(taphyslqiie  cTAristote,  i.  233. 


EMPEDOCLES.  85 

of  fact,  the  system  of  Anaxagoras  was  not  so  plausible  as  that  of 
Empedocles. 

More  weight  must  be  laid  on  the  meaning  of  Otfrspo^,  which 
certainly  cannot  be  exclusively  taken  to  mean  posterior  in  point 
of  time.  In  the  llth  chapter  of  Aristotle's  5th  book  he  treats 
of  all  the  significations  of  -rrporspoj  and  vtfrspog.  One  of  these 
significations  is  superiority  and  inferiority.  In  the  sense  of  infe 
riority  2tf«po£  is  often  used  by  the  poets.  Thus  Sophocles : 

Tii  liiapbv  #0o$,  Kal  yvvaiKos  farepov  ! 
"  O  shameful  character,  below  a  woman  !" 

"Inferior"  is  the  primitive  meaning;  in  English  we  say,  "second 
to  none,"  for  "  inferior  to  none." 

This  meaning  of  CoVspos,  namely,  of  inferiority,  is  the  one 
always  understood  by  the  old  commentators  on  the  passage  in 
question;  none  of  them  understood  a  chronological  posteriority. 
IlpoVgpos  indicates  priority  in  point  of  time ;  utfrgpoff  inferiority  in 
point  of  merit.  Thus  Philoponus :  "  Prior  quidem  tempore,  sed 
posterior  et  mancus  secundum  opinionem"  (fol.  2  a);  and  the 
anonymous  scholiast  of  the  Vatican  MS. :  tf porspos  youv  <rw  xp0'^ 
otXX'  utf-7cpo£  xa?  JXXsiVwv  xara  <n?v  (5o|av — "  first  indeed  in  time, 
but  second  and  inferior  in  point  of  doctrine." 

The  only  question  which  now  remains  to  be  answered  in  order 
to  establish  the  truth  of  the  foregoing  interpretation  of  u'tfrspos,  is 
this :  Did  Aristotle  regard  the  system  of  Anaxagoras  as  inferior 
to  that  of  Empedocles  ? 

This  question  we  can  answer  distinctly  in  the  affirmative.  The 
reader  will  remember  our  citation  of  the  passage  in  which  Aris 
totle  blames  Anaxagoras  for  never  employing  his  First  Cause 
(Intelligence)  except  upon  emergencies.  Aristotle  continues 
thus :  "  Empedocles  employs  his  causes  more  abundantly,  though 
not  indeed  sufficiently, — Kou  EjxtfsJoxX^  gVi  irXsov  (xsv  TOJTW 
Xpvj<ra»  T°?S  aiVioij,  ou  fA-/}  OUTS  ixavw^. — Met.  i.  4. 

Chronology  is  moreover  in  favor  of  our  view.  Anaxagoras 
was  born  about  the  TOth  Olympiad  ;  Empedocles,  by  general  con- 


86  EMPEDOCLES. 

sent,  is  said  to  have  flourished  in  the  84th  Olympiad ;  this  would 
make  Anaxagoras  at  least  fifty-six  years  old  at  the  time  when  Ern- 
pedocles  published  his  doctrine,  after  which  age  it  is  barely  prob 
able  that  Anaxagoras  would  have  begun  to  write  ;  and  even  this 
probability  vanishes  when  we  look  upon  the  life  of  Anaxagoras, 
who  was  teaching  in  Athens  about  the  76th  or  77th  Olympiad, 
and  who  died  at  Lampsacus,  in  exile,  in  the  88th  Olympiad,  viz. 
sixteen  years  after  the  epoch  in  which  Empedocles  is  said  to 
have  flourished. 

Trusting  that  the  above  point  was  not  unworthy  of  brief  dis 
cussion,  we  will  now  commence  the  narrative. 

Empedocles  was  born  at  Agrigentum,  in  Sicily,  and  flourished 
about  the  84th  Olympiad  (B.  c.  444).  Agrigentum  was  at  that 
period  at  the  height  of  its  splendor,  and  was  a  formidable  rival 
to  Syracuse.  Empedocles,  descended  from  a  wealthy  and  illus 
trious  family,  acquired  a  high  reputation  by  his  resolute  espousal 
of  the  democratic  party.  Much  of  his  wealth  is  said  to  have 
been  spent  in  a  singular  but  honorable  manner :  namely,  in  be 
stowing  dowries  on  poor  girls,  and  marrying  them  to  young  men 
of  rank  and  consequence.  Like  most  of  the  early  philosophers, 
he  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  great  traveller,  and  to  have  gath 
ered  in  distant  lands  the  wondrous  store  of  knowledge  which  he 
displayed.  It  was  assumed  that  only  in  the  far  East  could  he  have 
learned  the  potent  secrets  of  Medicine  and  Magic ;  only  from  the 
Egyptian  Magi  could  he  have  learned  the  art  of  prophecy. 

It  is  probable,  however,  that  he  did  travel  into  Italy,  and  to 
Athens.  But  in  truth  we  can  mention  little  of  his  personal  his 
tory  that  is  not  open  to  question.  His  name  rivals  that  of  Py 
thagoras  in  the  regions  of  fable.  The  same  august  majesty  of 
demeanor  and  the  same  marvellous  power  over  nature  are  attrib 
uted  to  both.  Miracles  were  his  pastimes.  In  prophecy,  in 
medicine,  in  power  over  the  winds  and  rains,  his  wonders  were 
so  numerous  and  so  renowned,  that  when  lie  appeared  at  the 
Olympic  Games  all  eyes  were  reverentially  fixed  upon  him.  His 
dress  and  demeanor  accorded  with  his  reputation.  Haughty, 


EMPEDOCLES.  87 

impassioned,  and  eminently  disinterested  in  character,  he  refused 
the  government  of  Agrigentum  when  freely  offered  him  by  the 
citizens;  but  his  love  of  distinction  showed  itself  in  priestly  gar- 
merits,  a  golden  girdle,  the  Delphic  crown,  and  a  numerous  train 
of  attendants.  He  proclaimed  himself  to  be  a  God  whom  men 
and  women  reverently  adored.  But  we  must  not  take  this  liter 
ally  :  he  probably  only  "  assumed  by  anticipation  an  honor 
which  he  promised  all  soothsayers,  priests,  physicians,  and 
princes  of  the  people." 

Fable  has  also  taken  advantage  of  the  mystery  which  overhangs 
his  death,  to  create  out  of  it  various  stories  of  marvel.  One  re 
lates  that,  after  a  sacred  festival,  he  was  drawn  up  to  heaven  in  a 
splendor  of  celestial  effulgence.  Another,  and  more  popular  one 
is,  that  he  threw  himself  headlong  into  the  crater  of  Mount  ^Etna, 
in  order  that  he  might  pass  for  a  God,  the  cause  of  his  death  be 
ing  unknown  ;  but  one  of  his  brazen  sandals,  thrown  out  in  an 
eruption,  revealed  the  secret. 

A  similar  uncertainty  exists  as  to  his  Teachers  and  his  Writings. 
Pythagoras,  Parmenides,  Xenophanes,  and  Anaxagoras  have  all 
been  positively  named  as  his  Teachers.  Unless  we  understand 
the  word  Teachers  in  a  figurative  sense,  we  must  absolutely  re 
ject  these  statements.  Diogenes  Laertius,  who  reports  them,  does 
so  in  his  dullest  manner,  with  an  absence  of  criticism  remarkable 
even  in  him.*  Considering  that  there  was,  at  least,  one  hundred 
and  forty  years  between  Pythagoras  and  Empedocles,  we  need  no 
further  argument  to  disprove  any  connection  between  them. 

Diogenes,  on  the  authority  of  Aristotle  (as  he  says),  attributes 
to  Empedocles  the  invention  of  Rhetoric;  and  Quinctilian  (iii.  c.  1) 
has  repeated  the  statement.  We  have  no  longer  the  work  of 
Aristotle  ;  but,  as  Ritter  says,  the  assertion  must  have  arisen 
from  a  misunderstanding,  or  have  been  said  in  jest  by  Aristotle, 
because  Empedocles  was  the  teacher  of  Gorgias  :  most  likely 

*  Diogenes  is  one  of  the  stupidest  of  the  stupid  19 ce  of  compilers.  His 
work  is  useful,  because  containing  occasional  extracts,  but  can  rarely  be  re 
lied  on  for  any  thing  else. 


88  EMPEDOCLES. 

from  a  misunderstanding,  since  Sextus  Empiricus  mentions  Aris 
totle  as  having  said  that  Empedocles  first  incited,  or  gave  an  im 
pulse  to  Rhetoric.*  Aristotle,  in  his  Rhetoric,  declares  that 
Corax  and  Tisias  were  the  first  to  publish  a  written  Treatise  on 
Eloquence.  We  feel  the  less  hesitation  in  rejecting  the  state 
ment  of  Diogenes,  because  in  the  very  passage  which  succeeds  he 
is  guilty  of  a  very  gross  misquotation  of  Aristotle,  who,  as  he 
says,  "  in  his  book  of  The  Poets  speaks  of  Empedocles  as  Homeric, 
powerful  in  his  eloquence,  rich  in  metaphors,  and  other  poetical 
n>ures."f  Now  this  work  of  Aristotle  on  the  Poets  is  fortunately 
extant,  and  it  proclaims  the  very  reverse  of  what  Diogenes  alleges. 
Here  is  the  passage  : — "  Custom,  indeed,  connecting  the  poetry 
or  making  with  the  metre,  has  denominated  some  elegiac  poets, 
others  epic  poets  :  thus  distinguishing  poets,  not  according  to  the 
nature  of  their  imitation,  but  according  to  that  of  their  metre 
only ;  for  even  they  who  composed  treatises  of  Medicine,  or  Natu 
ral  Philosophy  in  verse,  are  denominated  Poets :  yet  Homer  and 
Empedocles  have  nothing  in  common  except  their  metre  •  the  for 
mer,  therefore,  justly  merits  the  name  of  Poet ;  the  other  should 
rather  be  called  a  Physiologist  than  a  Poet."J 

It  is,  indeed,  quite  possible  that  Diogenes  may  have  had  before 
him  a  book  <ffspi  <oir]TOJv,  perhaps  one  of  the  many  spurious 
treatises  current  under  Aristotle's  name ;  but  it  is  not  probable 
that  Aristotle  would  have  expressed  an  opinion  so  contrary  to  the 
one  given  in  his  authentic  work. 

The  diversity  of  opinion,  with  respect  to  the  position  of  Em 
pedocles,  indicated  at  the  opening  of  this  Chapter,  is  not  without 
significance.  That  men  such  as  Ilegel,  Hitter,  Zeller,  and  Ten- 
nemann  should  see  reasons  for  different  classification,  cannot  be 
without  importance  to  the  Historian.  Their  arguments  destroy 
each  other ;  but  it  does  not  therefore  follow  that  they  all  build 
upon  false  grounds.  Each  view  has  a  certain  truth  in  it ;  but, 
not  being  the  whole  truth,  it  cannot  prevail.  The  cause  of  the 

*  Upwrov  KtKivrjKfvat. — Adv.  Mat.  vii. 

t  Diog.  Laert.  lib.  viii.  c.  ii.  §  3,  p.  57.  +  De  Poet.  c.  i. 


EMPEDOCLES.  89 

difference  seems  to  be  this :  Empedocles  has  something  of  the 
Pythagorean,  Eleatic,  Heraclitic,  and  Anaxagorean  systems  in 
his  system ;  so  that  each  historian,  detecting  one  of  these  ele 
ments,  and  omitting  to  give  due  importance  to  the  others,  has 
connected  Empedocles  with  the  system  to  which  that  one  ele 
ment  belongs.  Kilter  and  Zeller  have,  however,  been  aware  of 
some  of  the  complex  relations  of  the  doctrine,  but  failed,  we 
think,  in  giving  it  its  true  position. 

Kespecting  human  knowledge,  Empedocles  belongs  partly  to 
the  Eleatics.  With  them,  he  complained  of  the  imperfection  of 
the  Senses ;  and  looked  for  truth  only  in  Reason,  which  is  partly 
human  and  partly  divine  :  it  is  partly  clouded  by  the  senses. 
The  divine  knowledge  is  opposed  to  sensuous  knowledge ;  for 
men  cannot  approach  the  divine,  neither  can  he  seize  it  with  the 
hand  nor  the  eye.  Hence  Empedocles  conjoined  the  duty  of 
contemplating  God  in  the  mind.  But  he  appears  to  have  pro 
claimed  the  existence  of  this  divine  knowledge  without  attempt 
ing  to  determine  its  relation  to  human  knowledge.  In  this  re 
spect  he  resembles  rather  Xenophanes  than  Parmenides.* 

We  have  no  clear  testimony  of  his  having  studied  the  works 
of  Anaxagoras ;  but,  if  we  had,  it  might  not  be  difficult  to  ex 
plain  his  inferior  theory  of  knowledge ;  for,  in  truth,  the  theory 
of  Anaxagoras  was  too  far  in  advance  of  the  age  to  be  rightly 
apprehended.  Empedocles,  therefore,  adhered  to  the  Eleatic 
theory.  With  Xenophanes,  he  bewailed  the  delusion  of  the 
senses  and  experience.  Listen  to  his  lament : 

"Swift-fated  and  conscious,  how  brief  is  life's  pleasureless  portion! 
Like  the  wind-driven  smoke,  they  are  carried  backwards  and  forwards, 
Each  trusting  to  naught  save  what  his  experience  vouches, 
On  all  sides  distracted  ;  yet  wishing  to  find  out  the  whole  truth, 
In  vain;  neither  by  eye  nor  ear  perceptible  to  man, 
Nor  to  l>e  grasped  l>y  mind:  and  thou,  when  thus  thou  hast  wandered, 
Wilt  find  that  no  further  reaches  the  knowledge  of  mortals." 

*  Having  quoted  Aristotle's  testimony  of  the  sensuous  nature  of  knowl 
edge  in  the  Empedoclean  theory,  we  need  only  here  refer  to  it ;  adding  that, 
in  this  respect,  Empedocles  ranks  with  Parmenides  rather  than  with  Xeno 
phanes. 


90  EMPEDOCLES. 

These  verses  seem  to  indicate  a  skepticism  of  Reason  as  well 
as  of  the  Senses;  but  other  passages  show  that  he  upheld  the 
integrity  of  Reason,  which  he  thought  was  only  prevented  from 
revealing  the  whole  truth  because  it  was  imprisoned  in  the  body. 
Mundane  existence  was,  in  his  system,  the  doom  of  such  immor 
tal  souls  as  had  been  disgraced  from  Heaven.  The  Fall  of  Man 
he  thus  distinctly  enunciated  : 

"This  is  the  law  of  Fate,  of  the  Gods  an  olden  enactment, 
If  with  guilt  or  murder  a  Daemon*  polluteth  his  members, 
Thrice  ten  thousand  years  must  he  wander  apart  from  the  blessed. 
Hence,  doomed  I  stray,  a  fugitive  from  Gods  and  an  outcast, 
To  raging  strife  submissive." 

But  he  had  some  more  philosophical  ground  to  go  upon  when 
he  wished  to  prove  the  existence  of  Reason  and  of  the  Divine 
Nature.  He  maintained  that  like  could  only  be  known  by  like  : 
through  earth  we  learn  the  earth,  through  fire  we  learn  fire, 
through  strife  we  learn  strife,  and  through  love  we  learn  love. 
If,  therefore,!  like  could  only  be  known  by  like,  the  Divine  could 
only  be  known  by  Divine  Reason ;  and,  inasmuch  as  the  Divine 
is  recognized  by  man,  it  is  a  proof  that  the  Divine  exists.  Knowl 
edge  and  Existence  mutually  imply  each  other. 

Empedocles  resembles  Xenophanes  also  in  his  attacks  on  an 
thropomorphism.  God,  he  says,  has  neither  head  adjusted  to 
limbs,  like  human  beings,  nor  legs,  nor  hands : 

"  He  is,  wholly  and  perfectly,  mind  ineffable,  holy, 
With  rapid  and  swift-glancing  thought  pervading  the  whole  world." 

We  may  compare  these  verses  with  the  line  of  Xenophanes — 
"  Without  labor  he  ruleth  all  things  by  reason  and  insight." 


*  An  immortal  soul. 

f  We  are  here  thinking  for  Empedocles  ;  we  have  no  other  authority  for 
this  statement,  than  that  something  of  the  kind  is  wanting  to  make  out  a 
plausible  explanation  of  what  is  only  implied  in  the  fragments  extant.  The 
fragments  tell  us  that  he  believed  in  Reason  as  the  transcendent  faculty ; 
and  also  that  Keason  did  in  some  way  recognize  the  Divine.  All  we  have 
done  is  to  supply  the  link  wanting. 


EMPEDOCLES.  91 

Thus  far  Empedocles  belonged  to  the  Eleatics.  The  traces  of 
Pythagoras  are  fewer ;  for  we  cannot  regard  as  such  all  those 
analogies  which  the  ingenuity  of  some  critics  has  detected.*  In 
his  life,  and  in  his  moral  precepts,  there  is  a  strong  resemblance 
to  Pythagoras ;  but  in  his  philosophy  we  see  none  beyond  me 
tempsychosis,  and  the  consequent  abstinence  from  animal  food. 

Heraclitus  had  said  there  was  nothing  but  a  perpetual  flux  of 
things,  that  the  whole  world  of  phenomena  was  as  a  flowing  river, 
ever-changing  yet  apparently  the  same.  Anaxagoras  had  also 
said  that  there  was  no  creation  of  elements,  but  only  an  arrange 
ment.  Empedocles  was  now  to  amalgamate  these  views.  "  Fools !" 
he  exclaims, 

"  Who  think  aught  can  begin  to  be  which  formerly  was  not, 
Or,  that  aught  which  is,  can  perish  and  utterly  decay. f 
Another  truth  I  now  unfold  :  no  natural  birth 
Is  there  of  mortal  things,  nor  death's  destruction  final ; 
Nothing  is  there  but  a  mingling,  and  then  a  separation  of  the  mingled, 
Which  are  called  a  birth  and  death  by  ignorant  mortals. "J 

So  distinct  a  relationship  as  these  verses  manifest  towards  both 
Heraclitus  and  Anaxagoras  will  account  for  the  classification 
adopted  by  Hegel,  Zeller,  and  Renouvier ;  at  the  same  time  it 
gives  greater  strength  to  our  opinion  of  Empedocles  as  the  suc 
cessor  of  these  two. 

The  differences  are,  however,  as  great  as  the  resemblances. 
Having  asserted  that  all  things  were  but  a  mingling  and  a  sepa 
ration,  he  must  have  admitted  the  existence  of  certain  primary 
elements,  which  were  the  materials  mingled. 

Heraclitus  had  affirmed  Fire  to  be  both  the  principle  and  the 
element;  both  the  moving,  mingling  force,  and  the  mingled 
matter.  Anaxagoras,  with  great  logical  consistency,  affirmed 
that  the  primary  elements  were  homoeomerice,  since  nothing  could 


*  See  them  noticed  in  Zeller,  Philos.  der  Griechen,  pp.  169-173  (1845). 

t  Compare  Anaxagoras,  as  quoted  above  :  "  Wrongly  do  the  Greeks  sup 
pose  that  aught  begins  or  ceases  to  be." 

\  Compare  Anaxagoras:  "So  that  all-becoming  might  more  properly  be 
called  becoming  mixed,  and  all-corruption  becoming  separate." 


92  EMPEDOCLES. 

proceed  from  nothing,  and  whatever  was  arranged  must,  there 
fore,  be  an  arrangement  of  primary  elements.  Empedocles  affirm 
ed  that  the  primary  elements  were  four,  viz.  Earth,  Air,  Fire, 
and  Water :  out  of  these  all  other  things  proceed  ;  all  things  are 
but  the  various  minglings  of  these  four. 

Now,  that  this  is  an  advance  on  both  the  preceding  concep 
tions  will  scarcely  be  denied  ;  it  bears  indubitable  evidence  of 
being  a  later  conception,  and  a  modification  of  its  antecedents. 
Nevertheless,  although  superior  as  a  physiological  view,  it  has  not 
the  logical  consistency  of  the  view  maintained  by  Anaxagoras ; 
for,  as  Empedocles  taught  that  like  can  only  be  known  by  like, 
i.  e.  that  existence  and  knowledge  were  identical  .and  mutually 
implicative,  he  ought  to  have  maintained  that  whatever  is  recog 
nized  by  the  mind  as  distinct,  must  be  distinct  in  csse. 

With  respect  to  the  Formative  Power,  we  see  the  traces  of  He- 
raclitus  and  Anaxagoras  in  about  the  same  proportion.  Herac- 
litus  maintained  that  Fire  was  impelled  by  irresistible  Desire  to 
transform,  itself  into  some  determinate  existence.  Anaxagoras 
maintained  that  the  infinite  Intelligence  was  the  great  Architect 
who  arranged  all  the  material  elements,  the  Mind  that  controlled 
and  fashioned  Matter.  The  great  distinction  between  these  two 
systems  is,  that  the  Fire  transforms  itself,  the  Nous  transforms 
something  which  is  radically  different  from  itself.  Both  these 
conceptions  were  amalgamated  by  Empedocles.  He  taught  that 
Love  was  the  creative  power.  Wherever  there  is  a  mixture  of 
different  elements,  Love  is  exerted. 

Here  we  see  the  Desire  of  Heraclitus  sublimed  into  its  highest 
expression,  and  the  Nous  of  Anaxagoras  reduced  to  its  moral  ex 
pression,  Love.  The  difficulties  of  the  Heraclitean  doctrine, 
namely,  as  to  how  Fire  can  ever  become  any  thing  different  from 
Fire,  are  avoided  by  the  adoption  of  the  Anaxagorean  dualism  ; 
while  the  difficulties  of  the  Anaxagorean  doctrine,  namely,  as  to 
how  the  great  Arranger  was  moved  and  incited  to  arrange  the 
primary  elements,  are  in  some  measure  avoided  by  the  natural 
desire  of  Love  (Aphrodite). 


4  ^ .  EMPEDOCLES.  93 

But  there  was  a  difficulty  still  to  be  overcome.  If  Love  was 
the  creator,  that  is,  the  Mingler,  what  caused  separation  ?  To 
explain  this,  he  had  recourse  to  Hate.  As  the  perfect  state  of 
supramundane  existence  was  Harmony,  the  imperfect  state  of 
mundane  existence  was  Discord.  Love  was,  therefore,  the  Form 
ative  Principle,  and  Hate  the  Destructive.  Hence  he  said  that 
"  All  the  members  of  God  war  together,  one  after  the  other." 

This  is  but  the  phrase  of  Heraclitus,  "  Strife  is  the  parent  of  all 
things."  It  is  nevertheless  most  probable  that  Empedocles  re 
garded  Hate  as  only  a  mundane  power,  as  only  operating  on  the 
theatre  of  the  world,  and  nowise  disturbing  the  abode  of  the 
Gods.*  For,  inasmuch  as  man  is  a  fallen  and  perverted  God, 
doomed  to  wander  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  sky-aspiring,  but 
sense-clouded  ;  so  may  Hate  be  only  perverted  Love,  struggling 
through  space.  Does  not  this  idea  accord  with  wThat  we  know 
of  his  opinions  ?  His  conception  of  God,  that  is,  of  the  One,  was 
that  of  a  "  sphere  in  the  bosom  of  harmony  fixed,  in  calm  rest, 
gladly  rejoicing."  This  quiescent  sphere,  which  is  Love,  exists 
above  and  around  the  moved  World.  Certain  points  are  loosen 
ed  from  the  combination  of  the  elements,  but  the  unity  estab 
lished  by  Love  continues.  Ritter  is  convinced  that  "  Hate  has 
only  power  over  the  smaller  portion  of  existence,  over  that  part 
which,  disconnecting  itself  from  the  whole,  contaminates  itself 
with  crime,  and  thereby  devolves  to  the  errors  of  mortals." 

Our  account  of  Empedocles  will  be  found  to  vary  considerably 
from  that  in  Aristotle ;  but  our  excuse  is  furnished  by  the  great 
Stagirite  himself,  who  is  constantly  telling  us  that  Empedocles 
gave  no  reasons  for  his  opinions.  Moreover,  Aristotle  makes 
us  aware  that  his  own  interpretation  is  open  to  question  ;  for  he 
says,  that  this  interpretation  can  only  be  obtained  by  pushing 
the  premises  of  Empedocles  to  their  legitimate  conclusions ;  a 
process  which  destroys  all  historical  integrity,  for  what  thinker 
does  push  his  premises  to  their  utmost  limits  ? 

*  An  opinion  subsequently  put  forth  by  Plato  in  the  Phwdrus. 


94:  DEMOCRITUS. 


§  IV.    DEMOCRITUS. 

The  laughing  Philosopher,  the  traditional  antithesis  to  Herac- 
Jitus,  was  born  at  Abclera  (the  new  settlement  of  the  Teians  after 
their  abandonment  of  Ionia),  in  the  80th  Olympiad  (B.  c.  460). 
His  claim  to  the  title  of  Laugher,  o  ^sXatf?vof,  has  been  disputed, 
and  by  moderns  generally  rejected.  Perhaps  the  native  stupidity 
of  his  countrymen,  who  were  renowned  for  abusing  the  privilege 
of  being  stupid,  afforded  him  incessant  matter  for  laughter. 
Perhaps  he  was  by  nature  satirical,  and  thought  ridicule  the  test 
of  truth.  He  was  of  a  noble  and  wealthy  family,  so  wealthy 
that  it  entertained  Xerxes  at  Abdera.  Xerxes  in  recompense 
left  some  of  his  Magi  to  instruct  the  young  Democntus.  Doubt 
less  it  was  their  tales  of  the  wonders  of  their  native  land,  and 
the  deep  unspeakable  wisdom  of  their  priests,  which  inspired  him 
with  the  passion  for  travel.  "  I,  of  all  men,"  he  says,  "  of  my 
day,  have  travelled  over  the  greatest  extent  of  country,  exploring 
the  most  distant  lands ;  most  climates  and  regions  have  I  visited, 
and  listened  to  the  most  experienced  and  wisest  of  men ;  and 
in  the  calculations  of  line-measuring  no  one  hath  surpassed  me, 
not  even  the  Egyptians,  amongst  whom  I  sojourned  five  years." 
In  travel  he  spent  his  patrimony ;  but  he  exchanged  it  for  an 
amount  of  knowledge  which  no  one  had  previously  equalled. 

The  Abderites,  on  his  return,  looked  on  him  with  vague  won 
der.  The  sun-burnt  traveller  brought  with  him  knowledge  which, 
to  them,  must  have  appeared  divine.  lie  exhibited  a  few  samples 
of  his  lore,  foretold  unexpected  changes  in  the  weather,  and  was 
at  once  exalted  to  the  summit  of  that  power  to  which  it  is  a 
nation's  pride  to  bow.  He  was  offered  political  supremacy,  but 
wisely  declined  it. 

It  would  be  idle  to  detail  here  the  various  anecdotes  which  tra 
dition  hands  down  respecting  him.  They  are  mostly  either  im 
possible  or  improbable.  That,  for  instance,  of  his  having  put  out 
his  eyes  with  a  burning-glass,  in  order  that  he  might  be  more 
perfectly  and  undisturbedly  acquainted  with  his  reason,  is  in  vio- 


DEMOCRITUS.  95 

lent  contradiction  to  his  theory  of  the  eye  being  one  of  the  great 
inlets  to  the  soul.  Tradition  is  less  questionable  in  its  account 
of  his  having  led  a  quiet,  sober  life,  and  of  his  dying  at  a  very 
advanced  age.  More  we  cannot  credit. 

Respecting  his  Philosophy  there  is  some  certain  evidence  ;  but 
it  has  been  so  variously  interpreted,  and  is  in  many  parts  so  ob 
scure,  that  historians  have  been  at  a  loss  to  give  it  its  due  posi 
tion  in  relation  to  other  systems.  Reinhold,  Brandis,  Marbach, 
and  Hermann  view  him  as  an  Ionian  ;  Buhle  and  Tennemann, 
as  an  Eleatic  ;  Hegel,  as  the  successor  of  Heraclitus,  and  the 
predecessor  of  Anaxagoras  ;  Ritter,  as  a  Sophist ;  and  Zeller,  as 
the  precursor  of  Anaxagoras.  Of  all  these  attempts  at  classifica 
tion,  that  by  Ritter  seems  to  me  the  worst.  Because  Democri- 
tus  has  an  occasional  phrase  implying  great  vanity — and  those 
mentioned  by  Ritter  seem  to  us  to  imply  nothing  of  the  kind — 
he  is  said  to  be  a  Sophist ! 

Democritus  is  distinguished  from  the  lonians  by  the  denial  of 
all  sensible  quality  to  the  primary  elements ;  from  the  Eleatics 
by  his  affirmation  of  the  existence  of  a  multiplicity  of  elements ; 
from  Heraclitus  on  the  same  ground ;  from  Anaxagoras,  as  we 
shall  see  presently ;  and  from  Empedocles,  by  denying  the  Four 
Elements,  and  the  Formative  Love.  All  these  differences  are 
radical.  The  resemblances,  such  as  they  are,  may  have  been  co 
incidences,  or  derived  from  one  or  two  of  the  later  thinkers  :  Par- 
menides  and  Anaxagoras,  for  example. 

What  did  Democritus  teach  ?  This  question  we  will  endeavor 
to  answer  somewhat  differently  from  other  historians  ;  but  our 
answer  shall  be  wholly  grounded  on  precise  and  certain  data, 
with  no  other  originality  than  that  of  developing  the  system 
from  its  central  principles. 

To  commence  with  Knowledge,  and  with  the  passage  of  Aris 
totle,  universally  accredited,  though  variously  interpreted  :  "  De 
mocritus  says,  that  either  nothing  is  true,  or  what  is  true  is  not 
evident  to  us.  Universally  in  his  system,  the  sensation  consti 
tutes  the  thought,  and  as  at  the  same  time  it  is  but  a  change 


96  DEMOCRITUS. 

[in  the  sentient  being],  the  sensible  phenomena  (i.  e.  sensations) 
are  of  necessity  true."*  This  pregnant  passage  means,  I  think, 
that  sensation,  inasmuch  as  it  is  sensation,  must  be  true :  that  is, 
true  subjectively  ;  but  sensation,  inasmuch  as  it  is  sensation,  can 
not  be  true  objectively.  M.  Renouvier  thinks  that  Democritus 
was  the  first  to  introduce  this  distinction  ;  but  our  readers  will 
remember  that  it  was  the  distinction  established  by  Anaxagoras. 
Sextus  Empiricus  quotes  the  very  words  of  Democritus  :  "The 
sweet  exists  only  inform,  the  bitter  inform,  the  hot  inform,  the 
cold  in  form,  color  in  form  ;  but  in  causal  reality  (a.lrlj])\ 
only  atoms  and  space  exist.  The  sensible  things  which  are 
supposed  by  opinion  to  exist  have  no  real  existence,  but  only 
atoms  and  space  exist."];  When  he  says  that  sweetness,  heat, 
color,  etc.,  exist  in  form  only,  he  means  that  they  are  sensible 
images  constantly  emanating  from  things  ;  a  notion  we  shall  ex 
plain  presently.  A  little  further  on,  Sextus  reports  the  opinion, 
that  we  only  perceive  that  which  falls  in  upon  us  according  to 
the  disposition  of  our  bodies ;  all  else  is  hidden  from  us. 

Neither  Condillac  nor  Destutt  de  Tracy  has  more  distinctly 
identified  sensation  and  thought,  than  in  the  above  passages. 
But  Democritus  does  so  in  the  spirit  of  Kant  rather  than  that  of 
Condillac;  for,  although  with  the  latter  he  would  say,  "  Penser, 
c'est  sentir,"  yet  he  would  with  the  former  draw  the  distinction 
between  phenomenal  and  noumenal  perception. 

But  did  sensation  constitute  all  knowledge  ?  Was  there  noth 
ing  to  guide  man  but  the  reports  of  his  senses  ?  Democritus 
said  there  was  Reflection.^ 

This  Reflection  was  not  the  source  of  absolute  truth,  but  ful- 


*  *Hrot   oidiv  fivai   aXrjOfs  >}  ^//?V  y'  u5ij\ov.     "OXwf  Se  <5ta  TO 
vrjaiv  ntv  rrjv  aiaQiiaiv  ravTrjv  &  ilvai  aXXoiWtv,  TO  ^ainJ/uj/ov  Kara  rt]v  aUcdrjmv  f£ 
avdy>K7)$  dXfjflfj  civai. — Metaph.  iv.  5. 

t  Modern  editors  read  trsfj,  "  in  reality."    "We  are  inclined  however  to  pre 
serve  the  old  reading,  as  more  antithetical  to  K5//0) . 

t  Adv.  MatJiem.  vii.  163. 

§  Atovota:  etymology,  no  less  than  psychology,  justifies  this  translation. 


DEMOCRITUS.  97 

filled  a  controlling  office,  and  established  certitude,  as  far  as  there 
could  be  certitude  in  human  knowledge.  And  the  existence  of 
this  Reflection  was  asserted  very  much  in  the  style  of  the  cele 
brated  addition  to  the  aphorism,  "Nothing  is  in  the  Mind  which 
was  not  previously  in  the  Senses,"  when  Leibnitz  added,  "  except 
the  Mind  itself."  Democritus,  aware  that  most  of  our  concep 
tions  are  derived  through  the  senses,  was  also  aware  that  many 
of  them  were  utterly  independent,  and  in  defiance  of  the  Senses. 
Thus  the  "infinitely  small"  and  the  "infinitely  great"  escape 
Sense,  but  are  affirmed  by  Reflection.  So  also  the  atoms  which 
his  Reason  told  him  were  the  primary  elements  of  things,  he 
could  never  have  known  by  Sense. 

Thus  far  we  have  seen  Democritus  only  as  the  inheritor 
of  Anaxagoras ;  but  the  epoch  we  are  now  considering  was  dis 
tinguished  by  the  greater  attention  bestowed  on  the  origin  of 
knowledge,  and  we  may  reasonably  expect  that  Democritus  had 
devoted  considerable  thought  to  the  subject,  and  had  originated 
some  view  of  his  own. 

He  was  not  content  with  the  theory  of  Anaxagoras.  There 
were  difficulties  which  remained  unsolved  by  it ;  which,  indeed, 
had  never  been  appreciated.  This  was  the  grand  problem  Democ 
ritus  set  himself  to  solve :  How  do  we  perceive  external  things  ? 
It  is  no  answer  to  say  that  we  perceive  them  by  the  senses. 
This  is  no  better  an  explanation  than  that  of  the  occult  quality 
of  opium,  given  by  Moliere's  physician :  "  L'opium  endormit  parce 
qu'il  a  une  vertu  soporifique."  The  question  arises — How  is  it 
that  the  senses  'perceive? 

No  one  had  asked  this  question  ;  to  have  asked  it,  was  to  form 
an  era  in  the  history  of  Philosophy.  Men  began  by  reasoning 
on  the  reports  of  the  senses,  unsuspicious  of  error ;  when  they 
saw  any  thing,  they  concluded  that  what  they  saw  existed,  and 
existed  as  they  saw  it.  Afterwards  came  others  who  began  to 
question  the  accuracy  of  the  senses.  Lastly,  came  those  who 
denied  that  accuracy  altogether,  and  pronounced  the  reports  to 


98  DEMOCRITTJS. 

be  mere  delusions.  Thus  the  question  forced  itself  on  the  mind 
of  Democritus — In  what  manner  could  the  senses  perceive  ex 
ternal  things  ?  Once  settle  the  modus  operand^  and  then  the 
real  efficacy  of  the  senses  may  be  estimated. 

The  hypothesis  by  which  he  attempted  to  explain  perception 
was  both  ingenious  and  bold ;  and  many  centuries  elapsed  before 
a  better  one  was  suggested.  He  supposed  that  all  things  were 
constantly  throwing  off  images  of  themselves  (s'/^wXa,)  which, 
after  assimilating  to  themselves  the  surrounding  air,  enter  the 
soul  by  the  pores  of  the  sensitive  organ.  The  eye,  for  example, 
is  composed  of  aqueous  humors ;  and  water  sees.  But  how  does 
water  see  ?  It  is  diaphanous,  and  receives  the  image  of  what 
ever  is  presented  to  it. 

This  is  a  very  rude  and  material  hypothesis  ;  but  did  not 
philosophers,  for  centuries,  believe  that  their  senses  received  im 
pressions  of  things  ?  and  did  they  not  suppose  that  images  of 
things  were  reflected  in  the  mind  ?  This  latter  hypothesis 
is,  perhaps,  less  obviously  fantastic  and  gratuitous ;  but  it  is 
also  less  tenable ;  for  how  is  it  that  the  mind  becomes  a  mirror 
reflecting  the  images  ?  The  hypothesis  stands  as  much  in  need 
of  explanation  as  the  phenomenon  it  pretends  to  explain. 

The  hypothesis  of  Democritus,  once  admitted,  serves  its  pur 
pose  ;  at  least,  to  a  considerable  extent.  Only  the  external 
surface  of  a  body  is  thrown  off  in  the  shape  of  an  si'JwXov  or  im 
age,  and  even  that  only  imperfectly  and  obscurely.  The  figure 
thrown  off  is  not  a  perfect  image  of  the  object  throwing  it  off. 
It  is  only  an  image  of  the  external  form,  and  is  subject  to  varia 
tions  in  its  passage  to  the  mind.  This  being  the  case,  the  strictly 
phenomenal  nature  of  all  knowledge  is  accurately  exhibited.  The 
idols  or  images,  being  themselves  imperfect,  our  knowledge  is 
necessarily  imperfect. 

With  this  theory  of  knowledge  how  could  he  answer  the 
other,  greater,  question  of  Creation?  It  is  said  that  he  rejected 
The  One  of  the  Eleatics,  The  four  of  Empedocles,  and  the  Ho- 


DEMOCRITUS.  99 

mceomerice  of  Anaxagoras,  and  declared  Atoms,  invisible  and 
intangible,  to  be  the  primary  elements ;  and  that  all  things  were 
but  modes  of  one  of  the  triple  arrangements,  namely,  configura 
tion,  combination,  and  position.  The  atom,  being  indivisible,  is 
necessarily  one  ;  and,  being  one,  is  necessarily  self-existent.  By 
this  hypothesis,  therefore,  Democritus  satisfied  the  demands  of 
those  who  declared  that  the  self-existent  must  be  One ;  and 
of  those  who  declared  that  there  were  many  things  existing,  and 
that  the  One  could  never  be  more  than  the  One,  never  become 
the  Manv.  He  amalgamated  the  Ionian  and  Eleatic  schools  in 

*/  O 

his  speculation,  correcting  both.  He,  doubtless,  derived  this 
idea  from  the  homoeomerice  of  Anaxagoras ;  or,  as  those  who  place 
Anaxagoras  later  than  Democritus  would  say,  originated  this 
idea.  It  becomes  a  question,  therefore,  which  of  these  specula 
tions  bears  the  impress  of  greater  maturity.  On  this  question  we 
cannot  hesitate  to  pronounce.  The  idea  of  homceomerice  betrays 
its  more  primitive  nature  in  this — it  attributes  positive  qualities 
to  atoms,  which  qualities  are  not  changed  or  affected  by  com 
bination  or  arrangement.  The  idea  of  the  atom  divested  of  all 
quality,  and  only  assuming  that  quality  as  phenomenal  when  in 
combination  with  other  atoms,  and  changing  its  quality  with 
every  change  of  combination,  is  indubitably  a  far  more  scientific 
speculation  ;  it  is  also  obviously  later  in  point  of  development. 

From  the  axiom  that  only  "  like  can  act  upon  like,"  Anaxag 
oras  formed  his  homceomerice.  Democritus  accepted  the  axiom, 
but  gave  it  a  wider  application.  If  only  like  can  act  upon  like, 
said  he,  then  must  all  things  be  alike  in  esse  ;  and  the  only  dif 
ferences  are  those  of  phenomena,  i.  e.  of  manifestation  ;  these  de 
pend  on  combination  and  arrangement. 

Atomism  is  homceomerianism  stripped  of  qualities.  It  is  there 
fore  the  system  of  Anaxagoras  greatly  improved. 

The  Atomism  of  Democritus  has  not  been  sufficiently  appre 
ciated  as  a  speculation.  It  is  one  of  the  profoundest  yet  reached 
by  human  subtlety.  Leibnitz,  many  centuries  afterwards,  was 


100  DEMOCRITUS. 

led  to  a  doctrine  essentially  similar;  his  celebrated  "Monadolo- 
gie"  is  but  Atomism,  with  a  new  terminology.  Leibnitz  called 
his  Monad  a  force,  which  to  him  was  the  prima  maleria.  So 
also  Democritus  denied  that  atoms  had  any  weight ;  they  had 
only  force,  and  it  was  the  impulsion  given  by  superior  force 
which  constituted  weight.  It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  not  only 
did  these  thinkers  concur  in  their  doctrine  of  atomism,  but  also, 
as  we  have  seen,  in  their  doctrine  of  the  origin  of  knowledge  :  a 
coincidence  which  gives  weight  to  the  supposition  that  in  both 
minds  one  doctrine  was  dependent  on  the  other. 

From  what  has  already  been  said,  the  reader  may  estimate 
Hitter's  assertion,  that  it  would  be  in  vain  to  seek  for  any  pro- 
founder  view  in  the  theory  of  Democritus  than  that  common  to  all 
mechanical  physicists  who  sought  to  reduce  every  thing  to  math 
ematical  conceptions  :  an  assertion  as  preposterous  as  that  which 
follows  it,  namely,  that  Democritus  arrived  at  his  atomic  theory 
in  the  same  way  as  modern  physicists, — from  a  bias  for  the  me 
chanical  consideration  of  Nature.  Hitter  here  contradicts  himself. 
Having  first  declared  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  Democritian 
theory  but  what  the  lonians  had  previously  discovered,  he  next 
declares  that  this  theory  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  modern  atomic 
theory.  We  are  puzzled  to  which  decision  we  shall  award  the 
palm  of  historical  misconception.  The  modern  atomic  theory  is 
the  law  of  definite  proportions  ;  the  ancient  theory  is  merely  the 
affirmation  of  indefinite  combinations.  Between  these  two  con 
ceptions  there  is  precisely  the  difference  between  Positive  Science 
and  Philosophy.  Instead  of  being  similar  conceptions,  they  were 
neither  arrived  at  in  the  same  way,  nor  have  they  the  same  sig 
nification. 

Attempts  have  been  made,  from  certain  expressions  attributed 
to  Democritus,  to  deduce  an  Intelligence,  somewhat  similar  to 
that  in  the  Anaxagorean  doctrine,  as  the  Formative  Principle. 
But  the  evidence  is  so  small  and  so  questionable,  that  we  refrain 
from  pronouncing  on  it.  Certain  it  is  that  he  attributed  the 


DEMOCEITUS.  101 

formation  of  things  to  Destiny ;  but  whether  that  Destiny  was 
intelligent  or  not  is  uncertain. 

In  conclusion,  we  may  observe  that  his  system  was  an  advance 
on  that  of  his  predecessors.  In  the  two  great  points  of  psychol 
ogy  and  physics,  which  we  have  considered  at  length,  it  is  im 
possible  to  mistake  a  very  decided  progress,  as  well  as  the  open 
ing  of  a  new  line  in  each  department. 


THIRD  EPOCH. 


INTELLECTUAL  CRISIS. —THE  INSUFFICIENCY  OF  ALL  AT 
TEMPTS  TOWARDS  A  SOLUTION  OF  THE  PROBLEM  OF  EX 
ISTENCE,  AS  WELL  AS  THAT  OF  KNOWLEDGE,  PRODUCES 
THE  SOPHISTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  SOPHISTS. 

§  I.    WHAT  WERE  THEY  ? 

THE  Sophists  are  a  much  calumniated  race.  That  they  should 
have  been  so  formerly  is  not  surprising ;  that  they  should  be  so 
still,  is  an  evidence  that  historical  criticism  is  yet  in  its  infancy. 
In  raising  our  voices  to  defend  them  we  are  aware  of  the  para 
dox  ;  but  looked  at  nearly,  the  paradox  is  greater  on  the  side  of 
those  who  credit  and  repeat  the  traditional  account.  In  truth, 
we  know  of  few  charges  so  unanimous,  yet  so  paradoxical,  as  that 
brought  against  the  Sophists.*  It  is  as  if  mankind  had  consented 
to  judge  of  Socrates  by  the  representation  of  him  in  The  Clouds. 
The  caricature  of  Socrates  by  Aristophanes  is  quite  as  near  the 


*  It  is  proper  to  state  that  the  novel  view  of  the  position  and  character  of 
the  Sophists  advanced  in  this  Chapter  was  published  five  years  before  the 
admirable  Chapter  of  Mr.  Grote's  History  of  Greece,  wherein  that  erudite 
and  thoughtful  writer  brings  his  learning  and  sagacity  to  the  most  thorough 
elucidation  of  the  question  it  has  yet  received.  In  claiming  priority  in  this 
point  of  historical  criticism,  it  is  right  for  me  to  acknowledge  that  Mr.  Grote 
substantiates  his  view  with  overwhelming  force  of  argument  and  citation; 
and  in  revising  the  present  Chapter,  I  have  been  much  indebted  to  his 
criticisms  and  citations. 


THE    SOPHISTS.  103 

truth  as  the  caricature  of  the  Sophists  by  Plato  ;*  with  this  dif 
ference,  that  in  the  one  case  it  was  inspired  by  political,  in  the 
other  by  speculative  antipathy. 

On  the  Sophists  we  have  only  the  testimony  of  antagonists ; 
and  the  history  of  mankind  clearly  proves  that  the  enmities 
which  arise  from  difference  of  race  and  country  are  feeble  com 
pared  with  the  enmities  which  arise  from  difference  of  creed  : 
the  former  may  be  lessened  by  contact  and  intercourse ;  the  lat 
ter  are  only  aggravated.  Plato  had  every  reason  to  dislike  the 
Sophists  and  their  opinions  ;  he  therefore  lost  no  occasion  of 
ridiculing  the  one  and  misrepresenting  the  other.  And  it  is 
worthy  of  especial  remembrance  that  this  hostility  was  peculiarly 
Platonic,  and  not  Socratic ;  for,  as  Mr.  Grote  reminds  us,  there  is 
no  such  marked  antithesis  between  Socrates  and  the  Sophists  in 
the  biographical  work  of  Xenophon.  Plato,  however,  and  those 
who  followed  Plato,  misrepresented  the  Sophists,  as  in  all  ages 
antagonists  have  misrepresented  each  other. 

The  Sophists  were  wealthy ;  the  Sophists  were  powerful ;  the 
Sophists  were  dazzling,  rhetorical,  and  not  profound.  Interrogate 
human  nature — above  all,  the  nature  of  philosophers — and  ask 
what  will  be  the  sentiment  entertained  respecting  these  Sophists 
by  their  rivals.  Ask  the  solitary  thinker  what  is  his  opinion  of 
the  showy,  powerful,  but  shallow  rhetorician  who  usurps  the  at 
tention  of  the  world.  The  man  of  convictions  has  at  all  times  a 
superb  contempt  for  the  man  of  mere  oratorical  or  dialectical  dis 
play.  The  thinker  knows  that  the  world  is  ruled  by  Thought ; 
yet  he  sees  Expression  gaining  the  world's  attention.  He  knows, 
perhaps,  that  he  has  within  him  thoughts  pregnant  with  human 
welfare ;  yet  he  sees  the  giddy  multitude  intoxicated  with  the 
enthusiasm  excited  by  some  plausible  fallacy,  clothed  in  enchant 
ing  language.  He  sees  through  the  fallacy,  but  cannot  make 
others  as  clear-sio-hted.  His  warning  is  unheeded  ;  his  wisdom 

O  O 

is  spurned  ;  his  ambition  is  frustrated  :  the  popular  Idol  is  carried 

*  See  in  particular  that  amusing  dialogue,  the  Eutliydemus,  which  is  quit<; 
as  exaggerated  as  Aristophanes. 


104  THE    SOPHISTS. 

onward  in  triumph.  The  neglected  thinker  would  not  be  human 
if  lie  bore  this  with  equanimity.  He  does  not.  He  is  loud  and 
angry  in  lamenting  the  fate  of  a  world  that  can  so  be  led ;  loud 
and  angry  in  his  contempt  of  one  who  could  so  lead  it.  Should 
he  become  the  critic  or  historian  of  his  age,  what  exactness  ought 
we  to  expect  in  his  account  of  the  popular  idol  ? 

Somewhat  of  this  kind  was  the  relation  in  which  the  Sophists 
and  Philosophers  stood  to  each  other. 

The  Sophists  were  hated  by  some  because  they  were  powerful, 
by  others  because  shallow  ;  and  were  misrepresented  by  all.  In 
later  times  their  antagonism  to  Socrates  has  brought  them  ill- 
will  ;  and  this  ill-will  was  strengthened  by  the  very  prejudice  of 
the  name.  Could  a  Sophist  be  other  than  a  cheat  and  a  liar  ? 
As  well  ask,  could  a  Devil  be  other  than  Evil  ?  In  the  name  of 
Sophist  all  odious  qualities  are  implied,  and  this  implication  per 
verts  our  judgment.  Call  the  Sophists  Professors  of  Rhetoric, 
which  is  their  truest  designation,  and  then  examine  their  history; 
it  will  produce  a  very  different  impression. 

Much  discussion  has  been  devoted  to  the  meaning  of  the  word 
Sophist,  and  to  the  supposed  condemnation  it  everywhere  carried. 
*'  A  Sophist,  in  the  genuine  sense  of  the  word,  was  a  wise  man,  a 
clever  man,  one  who  stood  prominently  before  the  public  as  dis 
tinguished  for  intellect  or  talent  of  some  kind.  Thus  Solon  and 
Pythagoras  are  both  called  Sophists ;  Thamyras,  the  skilful  bard, 
is  called  a  Sophist ;  Socrates  is  so  denominated,  not  merely  by 
Aristophanes,  but  by  ^Eschines.  Aristotle  himself  calls  Avistip- 
pus,  and  Xenophon  calls  Antisthenes,  both  of  them  disciples  of 
Socrates,  by  that  name.  Xenophon,  in  describing  a  collection  of 
instructive  books,  calls  them  the  writings  of  the  old  poets  and 
Sophists.  Plato  is  alluded  to  as  a  Sophist  even  by  Isocrates; 
Isocrates  himself  was  harshly  criticised  as  a  Sophist,  and  defends 
both  himself  and  his  profession.  Lastly,  Timon,  who  bitterly  sat 
irized  all  the  philosophers,  designated  them  all,  including  Plato 
and  Aristotle,  by  the  general  name  of  Sophists."*  This  proves 

*  Grote,  viii.  480. 


THE    SOPHISTS.  105 

the  vagueness  with  which  the  term  was  employed  :  a  like  dis 
crepancy  might  be  detected  in  the  modern  use  of  the  word  "  met 
aphysician,"  which  is  a  term  of  honor  or  reproach,  according  to 
the  speaker.  Zeller  says  that  the  specific  name  of  Sophist  at 
first  merely  designated  one  who  taught  philosophy  for  p<iy.  The 
philosophy  might  be  good  or  bad ;  the  characteristic  designated 
by  the  epithet  Sophistical  was  its  demand  of  money-fees.  The 
narrower  meaning  was  given  it  by  Plato  and  Aristotle.*  It  mat 
ters  little,  however,  what  was  the  meaning  attached  to  the  name. 
Even  were  it  proved  that  "  Sophist"  was  as  injurious  in  those 
days  as  "  Socialist"  in  our  own,  it  would  no  more  prove  that  the 
Sophists  really  taught  the  doctrines  attributed  to  them,  than  the 
mingled  terror  and  detestation  with  which  "  Socialist  doctrines" 
are  described  in  almost  all  modern  journals,  pamphlets,  speeches, 
and  reviews,  prove  that  the  Socialists  really  teach  what  is  there 
imputed  to  them. 

We  said  it  was  a  paradox  to  maintain  that  the  Sophists  really 
promulgated  the  opinions  usually  attributed  to  them  ;  and  by 
this  we  mean  that  not  only  are  some  of  those  opinions  nothing 
but  caricatures  of  what  was  really  maintained,  but  also  that,  in 
our  interpretation  of  the  others,  we  grossly  err,  by  a  confusion  of 
Christian  with  Heathen  views  of  morality.  Moderns  cannot  help 
regarding  as  fearfully  immoral,  ideas  which  by  the  Greeks  were 
regarded  as  moral,  or  at  least  as  not  disreputable.  For  instance  : 
the  Greek  orators  are  always  careful  to  impress  upon  their  au 
dience,  that  in  bringing  a  charge  against  any  one  they  are  actu 
ated  by  the  strongest  personal  motives ;  that  they  have  been  in 
jured  by  the  accused ;  that  they  have  good  honest  hatred  as  a 
motive  for  accusing  him.  Can  any  thing  be  more  opposite  to 
Christian  feeling  ?  A  Christian  accuser  is  just  as  anxious  to  ex 
tricate  himself  from  any  charge  of  being  influenced  by  personal 
considerations,  as  the  Greek  was  of  making  the  contrary  evident. 
A  Christian  seeks  to  place  his  motive  to  the  account  of  abstract 
justice  ;  and  his  statement  would  be  received  with  great  suspicion 

*  Philosoplde  der  Griechen,  erster  Theil,  1856,  p.  750. 


106  THE    SOPHISTS. 

were  it  known  that  a  personal  feeling  prompted  it.  The  reason 
of  this  difference  is,  that  the  Christian  Ethics  do  not  countenance 
vengeance  ;  the  Greek  Ethics  not  only  countenanced  vengeance, 
but  very  much  reprobated  informers :  consequently,  whoever 
made  an  accusation  had  to  clear  himself  from  the  ignominy 
of  being  an  informer,  and  to  do  so  he  showed  his  personal 
motives. 

This  example  will  prepare  the  reader  to  judge,  without  pre 
cipitancy,  the  celebrated  boast  attributed  to  the  Sophists,  that 
they  could  "make  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason."  This 
was  said  to  be  the  grand  aim  of  their  endeavors.  This  was 
called  their  avowed  object.  To  teach  this  art,  it  is  said,  they 
demanded  enormous  sums ;  and  to  learn  it  enormous  sums  were 
readily  given,  and  given  by  many. 

These  assertions  are  severally  false.  We  will  take  the  last  first. 
It  is  not  true  that  enormous  sums  were  demanded.  Isocrates  af 
firms  that  their  gains  were  never  very  high,  but  had  been  mali 
ciously  exaggerated,  and  were  very  inferior  to  the  gains  of  dra 
matic  actors.  Plato,  a  less  questionable  authority  on  such  a 
point,  makes  Protagoras  describe  his  system  of  demanding  re 
muneration  :  "  I  make  no  stipulation  beforehand ;  when  a  pupil 
parts  from  me,  I  ask  from  him  such  a  sum  as  I  think  the  time 
and  the  circumstances  warrant ;  and  I  add,  that  if  he  deems  the 
demand  too  great,  he  has  only  to  make  up  his  own  mind  what  is 
the  amount  of  improvement  which  my  company  has  procured  to 
him,  and  what  sum  he  considers  an  equivalent  for  it.  I  am  con 
tent  to  accept  the  sum  so  named  by  himself,  only  requiring  him 
to  go  into  a  Temple  and  make  oath  that  it  is  his  sincere  belief." 
Plato  objects  to  this,  and  to  every  other  mode  of  "  selling  wis 
dom;"  but,  as  Mr.  Grote  remarks,  "such  is  not  the  way  in  which 
the  corrupters  of  mankind  go  to  work." 

But  let  us  waive  the  question  of  payment,  to  consider  the 
teaching  paid  for.  The  Sophists,  it  is  said,  and  believed,  boasted 
that  they  could  teach  the  art  of  making  the  worse  appear  the 
better  reason ;  and  in  one  sense  this  is  true ;  but  understanding 


THE    SOPHISTS.  107 

this  art  as  moderns  have  understood  it,  and  thereby  forming*  our 
notion  of  the  Sophists,  let  us  ask,  Is  it  credible  that  such  an  art 
should  have  been  avowed,  and,  being  avowed,  should  be  rewarded, 
in  a  civilized  state  ?  Let  us  think,  for  an  instant,  of  what  are  its 
moral,  or  rather  immoral,  consequences.  Let  us  reflect  how 
utterly  it  destroys  all  morality  ;  how  it  makes  the  very  laws  but 
playthings  for  dialectical  subtlety.  Then  let  us  ask  whether,  as 
we  understand  it,  any  State  could  have  allowed  such  open  blas 
phemy,  such  defiance  of  the  very  fundamental  principle  of  hon 
esty  and  integrity,  such  demolition  of  the  social  contract. 

Could  any  State  do  this  ?  and  was  Athens  that  State  ?  We 
ask  the  reader  to  realize  for  himself  some  notion  of  the  Athenians 
as  citizens,  not  merely  as  statues ;  to  think  of  them  as  human 
beings,  full  of  human  passions,  not  simply  as  architects,  sculptors, 
poets,  and  philosophers.  Having  done  this,  we  ask  him  whether 
he  can  believe  that  these  Athenians  would  have  listened  to  a 
man  proclaiming  all  morality  a  farce,  and  all  law  a  quibble — 
proclaiming  that  for  a  sum  of  money  he  could  instruct  any  one 
how  to  make  an  unjust  cause  appear  a  just  one  ?  Would  not 
such  a  proclamation  be  answered  with  a  shout  of  derision,  or  of 
execration,  according  to  the  belief  in  his  sincerity  ?  Could  any 
charlatan,  in  the  corruptest  age,  have  escaped  lapidation  for  such 
effrontery  ?  Yet  the  Sophists  were  wealthy,  by  many  greatly 
admired,  and  were  selected  as  ambassadors  on  very  delicate  mis 
sions.  They  were  men  of  splendid  talents,  of  powerful  connec 
tions.  Around  them  flocked  the  rich  and  noble  youth  of  every 
city  they  entered.  They  were  the  intellectual  leaders  of  their 
age.  If  they  had  been  what  their  adversaries  describe  them, 
Greece  could  only  have  been  an  earthly  Pandemonium,  where 
Belial  was  Kino-. 

£3 

To  believe  this  is  beyond  our  power.  Indeed  such  a  paradox 
it  would  be  frivolous  to  refute,  had  it  not  been  maintained  for 
centuries.  Some  have  endeavored  to  escape  it  by  maintaining 
that  the  Sophists  were  held  in  profound  contempt;  and  certain 
passages  are  adduced  from  Plato  in  proof  thereof.  But  the  fact 


108  THE   SOPHISTS. 

appears  to  us  to  be  the  reverse  of  this.  The  wealth  and  power 
of  the  Sophists — the  very  importance  implied  in  Plato's  constant 
polemic  against  them — prove  that  they  were  not  objects  of  con 
tempt.  Objects  of  aversion  they  might  be  to  one  party :  the 
successful  always  are.  Objects  of  contempt  they  might  be,  to 
some  sincere  and  profound  thinkers.  The  question  here,  how 
ever,  is  not  one  relating  to  individuals,  but  to  the  State.  It  is 
not  whether  Plato  despised  Gorgias,  but  whether  Athens  allowed 
him  to  teach  the  most  unblushing  and  undisguised  immorality. 
There  have  been  daring  speculators  in  all  times.  There  have 
been  men  shameless  and  corrupt.  But  that  there  has  been  any 
speculator  so  daring  as  to  promulgate  what  he  knew  to  be  gross 
ly  immoral,  and  so  shameless  as  to  avow  it,  is  in  such  contra 
diction  to  our  experience  of  human  nature  as  at  once  to  be  re 
jected.* 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  in  teaching  the  art  of  "making 
the  worse  appear  the  better  reason,"  the  Sophists  were  not  guilty 
of  any  thing  held  to  be  reprehensible  ;  however  serious  thinkers, 
such  as  Plato  and  Aristotle,  might  detest  the  shallow  philosophy 
from  which  it  sprang. 

But  if  this  art  was  not  reprehensible,  except  to  severe  minds, 
such  as  Plato  and  Aristotle,  it  is  clear  that  it  could  not  have 
been  the  art  which  its  antagonists  and  defamers  have  declared  it 
to  be.  If,  as  we  have  shown,  universal  human  nature  would  have 
rebelled  against  a  teaching  which  was  avowedly  immoral,  the 
fact  that  the  Sophists  were  not  stoned,  but  were  highly  consider 
ed  and  well  paid,  is  proof  that  their  teaching  was  either  not  what 
we  are  told  it  was,  or  that  such  teaching  was  not  considered  im 
moral  by  the  Greeks.  Both  of  these  negatives  will  be  found 
true.  The  teaching  of  the  Sophists  was  demonstrably  not  what 


*  We  are  told  by  Sextus  that  Protagoras  was  condemned  to  death  by 
the  Athenians,  because  lie  professed  himself  unable  to  say  whether  the 
Gods  existed,  or  what  they  were,  owing  to  the  insufficiency  of  knowledge. 
Yet  the  Athenians  are  supposed  to  have  tolerated  the  Sophists  as  they  aro 
understood  by  moderns  ! 


THE    SOPHISTS.  109 

is  usually  attributed  to  them,  and  what  they  did  teach  was  very 
far  from  being  considered  as  immoral.  Let  us  consider  both 
these  points. 

In  the  first  place,  Mr.  Grote  has  shown  beyond  dispute  that  the 
Sophists  had  no  doctrine  in  common ;  they  formed  no  sect  or 
school  of  thought,  such  as  modern  Germans  indicate  under  the 
name  of  Die  Sophist  ik.  There  never  was  a  Sophistik.  Each 
teacher  had  his  own  doctrinal  views,  and  was  not  more  bound  to 
the  opinions  of  the  others  than  a  modern  Barrister  is  bound  to 
share  the  theology  of  the  Bar,  or  than  a  modern  teacher  of  Elo 
cution  is  bound  to  vote  <m  the  same  side  with  all  other  profes 
sors.  No  sooner  is  this  fact  apprehended,  than  the  absurdity  of 
attributing  to  "  the  Sophists"  opinions  expressed  by  one  Sophist, 
and  that  too  in  a  caricature  by  Plato,  is  at  once  apparent.  More 
over,  the  absurdity  of  talking  of  the  "  sophistical  doctrine"  be 
comes  apparent,  and  we  are  forced  to  speak  only  of  the  "  sophis 
tical  art"  reserving  for  any  special  animadversion  the  special 
name  of  the  offending  sinner. 

The  Sophists  taught  the  art  of  disputation.  The  litigious 
quibbling  nature  of  the  Greeks  was  the  soil  on  which  an  art  like 
that  was  made  to  flourish.  Their  excessive  love  of  lawsuits  is 
familiar  to  all  versed  in  Grecian  history.  The  almost  farcical 
representation  of  a  lawsuit  given  by  ./Eschylus  in  his  otherwise 
awful  drama,  The  Eumenides,  shows  with  what  keen  and  lively 
interest  the  audience  witnessed  even  the  very  details  of  litigation. 
For  such  an  appetite  food  would  not  Io.ng  be  wanting.  Corax 
and  Tisias  wrote  precepts  of  the  art  of  disputation,  Protagoras 
followed  with  dissertations  on  the  most  remarkable  points  of 
law  ;  and  Gorgias  composed  a  set  accusation  and  apology  for 
every  case  that  could  present  itself.  People,  in  short,  were 
taught  to  be  their  own  advocates. 

This  was  by  no  means  an  immoral  art.  If  it  might  or  did 
lead  to  immorality,  few  Greeks  would  have  quarrelled  with  an 
art  so  necessary.  "  Without  some  power  of  persuading  or  con 
futing,  or  defending  himself  against  accusations,  or,  in  case  of 


110  THE    SOPHISTS. 

need,  accusing  others,  no  man  could  possibly  hold  an  ascendant 
position.  He  had  probably  not  less  need  of  this  talent  for  private 
informal  conversations  to  satisfy  his  own  political  partisans,  than 
for  addressing  the  public  assembly  formally  convoked.  Even 
commanding  an  army  or  a  fleet,  without  any  laws  of  war  or 
habit  of  discipline,  his  power  of  keeping  up  the  good-humor, 
confidence,  and  prompt  obedience  of  his  men,  depended  not  a  lit 
tle  on  his  command  of  speech.  Nor  was  it  only  to  the  leaders 
in  political  life  that  such  an  accomplishment  was  indispensable. 
In  all  democracies,  and  probably  in  several  Governments  which 
were  not  democracies  but  oligarchies  of  an  open  character,  the 
courts  of  justice  were  more  or  less  numerous,  and  the  procedure 
oral  and  public;  in  Athens  especially  the  Dicastcries  were  both 
very  numerous  and  were  paid  for  attendance.  Every  citizen  had 
to  go  before  them  in  person,  without  being  able  to  send  a  paid 
advocate  in  his  place,  if  he  either  required  redress  for  wrong 
offered  to  himself,  or  was  accused  of  wrong  by  another.  There 
was  no  man  therefore  who  might  not  be  cast  or  condemned,  or 
fail  in  his  own  suit,  even  with  right  on  his  side,  unless  he  pos 
sessed  some  power  of  speech  to  unfold  his  case  to  the  Dicasts,  as 
well  as  to  confute  the  falsehoods  and  disentangle  the  sophistry 
of  an  opponent.  To  meet  such  liabilities,  from  which  no  citizen, 
rich  or  poor,  was  exempt,  a  certain  training  in  speech  became 
not  less  essential  than  a  certain  training  in  arms."*  Thus  was 

O 

it  that  even  quibbling  ingenuity,  "  making  the  worse  appear  the 
better  reason,"  became  a  sort  of  virtue,  because  it  was  obtained 
only  by  that  mastery  over  argument  which  was  the  Athenian's 
ambition  and  necessity.  We  can  send  a  paid  advocate  to  quibble 
for  us,  and  do  not  therefore  need  such  argumentative  subtletv. 
But  let  us  ask,  are  barristers  pronounced  the  "  corruptors  of  man 
kind,"  and  is  their  art  called  the  art  of  "  making  the  worse  appear 
the  better  reason,"  as  if  that,  and  that  alone,  were  the  purport  of 
all  pleading?  Yet,  in  defending  a  criminal,  does  not  every  bar- 

*  Grote,  viii.  463-4. 


THE    SOPHISTS.  Ill 

rister  exert  his  energy,  eloquence,  subtlety,  and  knowledge  "  to 
make  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason  ?"  Do  we  reprobate 
Sergeant  Talfourd  or  Sir  Frederick  Thesiger,  if  they  succeed  in 
gaining  their  client's  cause,  although  that  cause  be  a  bad  one  ? 
On  the  contrary,  the  badness  of  the  cause  makes  the  greatness  of 
the  triumph. 

Now  let  us  suppose  Sergeant  Talfourd  to  give  lessons  in  foren 
sic  oratory ;  suppose  him  to  announce  to  the  world,  that  for  a 
certain  sum  he  would  instruct  any  man  in  the  whole  art  of  ex 
position  and  debate,  of  the  interrogation  of  witnesses,  of  the  tricks 
and  turning-points  of  the  law,  so  that  the  learner  might  become 
his  own  advocate :  this  would  be  contrary  to  legal  etiquette ; 
but  would  it  be  immoral  ?  Grave  men  might,  perhaps,  object 
that  Mr.  Talfourd  was  offering  to  make  men  cheats  and  scamps, 
by  enabling  them  to  make  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason. 
But  this  is  a  consequence  foreseen  by  grave  men,  not  acknowl 
edged  by  the  teacher.  It  is  doubtless  true  that  owing  to  oratory, 
ingenuity,  and  subtlety,  a  scamp's  cause  is  sometimes  gained  ; 
but  it  is  also  true  that  many  an  honest  man's  cause  is  gained, 
and  many  a  scamp  frustrated,  by  the  same  means.  If  forensic 
oratory  docs  sometimes  make  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason, 
it  also  makes  the  good  appear  in  all  its  strength.  The  former  is 
a  necessary  evil,  the  latter  is  the  very  object  of  a  court  of  justice. 
"If,"  says  Callicles,  in  defence  of  Gorgias,  to  Socrates,  "  any  one 
should  charge  you  with  some  crime  which  you  had  not  commit 
ted,  and  carry  you  off  to  prison,  you  would  gape  and  stare,  and 
would  not  know  what  to  say ;  and,  when  brought  to  trial,  how 
ever  contemptible  and  weak  your  accuser  might  be,  if  he  chose 
to  indict  you  capitally,  you  would  perish.  Can  this  be  wisdom, 
which,  if  it  takes  hold  of  a  gifted  man,  destroys  the  excellence  of 
his  nature,  rendering  him  incapable  of  preserving  himself  and 
others  from  the  greatest  dangers,  enabling  his  enemies  to  plunder 
him  of  all  his  property,  and  reducing  him  to  the  situation  of 
those  who,  by  a  sentence  of  the  Court,  have  been  deprived  of  all. 
their  rights  ?" 


112  THE   SOPHISTS. 

If  it  be  admitted  that  Sergeant  Talfourd's  instruction  in  foren 
sic  oratory  would  not  be  immoral,  however  unusual,  we  have 
only  to  extend  the  sphere  and  include  politics,  and  represent  to 
ourselves  the  democratic  state  of  Athens,  where  demagogues 
were  ever  on  the  alert,  and  we  shall  be  fully  persuaded  that  the 
art  of  the  Sophists  was  riot  considered  immoral ;  and,  as  further 
proof,  we  select  the  passage  in  Plato's  Republic^  as  coming  from 
an  unexceptionable  source. 

Socrates,  speaking  of  the  mercenary  teachers  whom  the  people 
call  Sophists,  says :  "  These  Sophists  teach  them  only  the  things 
which  the  people  themselves  profess  in  assemblies  ;  yet  this  they 
call  wisdom.  It  is  as  if  a  man  had  observed  the  instincts  and 
appetites  of  a  great  and  powerful  beast,  in  what  manner  to 
approach  it,  how  or  why  it  is  ferocious  or  calm,  what  cries  it 
makes,  what  tones  appease  and  what  tones  irritate  it;  after 
having  learnt  all  this,  and  calling  it  wisdom,  commenced  teach 
ing  it  without  any  knowledge  of  what  is  good,  just,  shameful  and 
unjust  among  these  instincts  and  appetites;  but  calling  that 
good  which  flatters  the  animal,  and  that  bad  which  irritates  it ; 
because  he  knows  not  the  difference  between  what  is  good  in 
itself  and  that  which  is  only  relatively  good."* 

There  is  the  usual  vein  of  caricature  in  this  description  (which 
is  paraphrased  in  the  Quarterly  Revieio,\  and  there  given  as  if 
the  undoubted  and  imcxaggerated  doctrines  of  the  Sophists) ; 
but  it  very  distinctly  sets  forth  the  fact  that  the  Sophists  did  not 
teach  any  thing  contrary  to  public  morals,  however  their  art  may 
have  offended  abstract  morality.  Indeed  the  very  fact  of  their 
popularity  would  prove  that  they  did  but  respond  to  a  public 
want ;  and  because  they  responded  to  this  want  they  were  paid 
by  the  public  in  money.  Plato  constantly  harps  upon  their  be 
ing  mercenaries ;  but  he  was  wealthy,  and  could  afford  such  sar 
casms.  The  Greeks  paid  their  Musicians,  Painters,  Sculptors, 
Physicians,  Poets,  and  Teachers  in  Schools ;  why  therefore 

*  Plato,  Rtp.  vi.  291.  -f  No.  xlii.  p.  283. 


THE    SOPHISTS.  113 

should  they  not  pay  their  Philosophers  ?  Zeno  of  Elea  was 
paid ;  so  was  Democritus ;  but  both  of  these  have  been  some 
times  included  amongst  the  Sophists.  We  see  nothing  what 
ever  more  derogatory  in  the  acceptance  of  money  by  Philoso 
phers  than  by  Poets;  and  we  know  how  the  latter  stipulated 
for  handsome  payment. 

Having  done  our  best  to  show  that  the  "  Sophistical  art" — 
that  alone  which  the  Sophists  had  in  common — was  not  im 
moral,  or  at  any  rate  was  not  regarded  as  immoral  by  the  Greeks, 
we  will  now  see  how  the  case  stands  with  respect  to  the  old 
accusation  of  their  having  corrupted  the  Athenian  youth,  and  of 
their  doctrines  being  essentially  corrupting. 

That  the  Athenians  did  not  consider  the  Sophists  as  corruptors 
of  youth  is  unequivocally  shown  in  two  facts :  they  did  not  im 
peach  the  Sophists,  and  they  did  impeach  Socrates.  When 
Anaxagoras  and  Protagoras  "  sapped  the  foundations  of  morality" 
by  expressing  opinions  contrary  to  the  religion  of  Athens,  they 
were  banished ;  but  who  impeached  Gorgias,  or  Ilippias,  or 
Prodicus  1 

The  art  however  may  have  been  essentially  corrupting,  al 
though  to  contemporaries  it  did  not  appear  so.  We  believe  it 
was  so,  if  it  is  to  be  made  responsible  for  all  the  consequences 
which  can  logically  be  deduced  from  it.  But  "  logical  conse 
quences"  are  unjust  standards.  Men  are  not  responsible  for 
what  others  may  consider  their  doctrines  "lead  to."  It  was  on 
the  ground  of  such  remote  deduction  that  Socrates  was  put  to 
death ;  and  on  sucli  grounds  the  Sophists  have  been  the  by 
word  of  reproach.  Mr.  Grote  grapples  directly  with  the  fact, 
where  he  declares  Athens  at  the  close  of  the  Peloponnesian  war 
was  not  more  corrupt  than  Athens  in  the  days  of  Miltiades  and 
Aristides ;  and  had  it  been  more  corrupt,  we  should  demand 
quite  other  evidence  than  that  usually  alleged,  before  believing 
the  corruption  due  to  the  Sophists. 

Why  then  did  Plato  speak  of  the  Sophists  with  so  much 
asperity?  Why  did  he  consider  their  teaching  so  dangerous? 


114  THE    SOPHISTS. 

Because  he  differed  from  them  in  toto.  He  hated  them  for  the 
same  reason  that  Calvin  hated  Servetus;  but  having  a  more 
generous  nature  than  Calvin,  his  hatred  of  their  doctrines  did 
not  assume  so  disgraceful  a  form.  If  his  allegations  are  to  con 
demn  the  Sophists,  they  must  equally  condemn  all  the  public  men 
of  that  day.  "  Whoever  will  read  either  the  Gorgias  or  the  Re 
public,  will  see  in  how  sweeping  and  indiscriminate  a  manner  he 
passes  the  sentence  of  condemnation.  Not  only  the  Sophists 
and  all  the  Rhetors,  but  all  the  Musicians  and  either  Dithy- 
ranibic  or  Tragic  Poets,  all  the  Statesmen  past  as  well  as  present, 
not  excepting  even  the  great  Pericles,  receive  from  his  hand 
one  common  stamp  of  dishonor."*  But  so  far  is  he  from  con 
sidering  the  Sophists  as  peculiar  corruptors  of  Athenian  morality, 
"that  he  distinctly  protests  against  that  supposition  in  a  remark 
able  passage  of  the  Republic.  It  is,  he  says,  the  whole  people  or 
the  society,  with  its  established  morality,  intelligence,  and  tone 
of  sentiment,  which  is  intrinsically  vicious;  the  teachers  of  such 
a  society  must  be  vicious  also,  otherwise  their  teaching  would 
not  be  received ;  and  even  if  their  private  teaching  were  ever  so 
good,  its  effect  would  be  washed  away,  except  in  some  few  privi 
leged  natures,  by  overwhelming  influences.''! 

The  truth  is  that,  in  as  far  as  the  Sophists  taught  any  doctrine 
at  all,  their  doctrine  was  ethical ;  and  to  suppose  men  teaching 
immoral  ethics,  i.  e.  systems  of  morality  known  by  them  to  be 
immoral,  is  absurd.  To  clear  up  this  point  we  must  endeavor  to 
ascertain  what  that  doctrine  was. 

Plato's  account  is  on  the  face  of  it  a  caricature,  since  it  is  im 
possible  that  any  man  should  have  seriously  entertained  such  a 
doctrine.  What  Protagoras  and  Gorgias  thought  is  not  given, 
but  only  a  misrepresentation  of  what  they  thought.  Plato  seizes 
hold  of  one  of  their  doctrines,  and,  interpreting  it  in  his  own 


*  Grote,  viii.  537. 

t  Ibid.  p.  59.  The  passage  referred  to  is  Hepul.  vi.  492  (page  388,  ed. 
Bekker),  and  the  Sophists  are  mentioned  by  name  as  the  teachers  of  whom 
it  treats. 


THE    SOPHISTS.  115 

way,  makes  it  lead  to  the  most  outrageous  absurdity  and  im 
morality.  This  is  as  if  Berkeley's  doctrine  had  been  transmitted 
to  us  by  Beattie.  Berkeley,  it  is  well  known,  denied  the  exist 
ence  of  the  external  world,  resolving  it  into  a  simple  world  of 
ideas.  Beattie  taunted  him  with  not  having  followed  out  his 
principles,  and  with  not  having  walked  over  a  precipice.  This 
was  a  gross  misrepresentation ;  an  ignoratio  elenchi  j  Beattie 
misunderstood  the  argument,  and  drew  conclusions  from  his 
misunderstanding.  Now  suppose  him  to  have  written  a  dialogue 
on  the  plan  of  those  of  Plato :  suppose  him  making  Berkeley 
expound  his  argument  in  the  way  he  (Beattie)  interpreted  it, 
with  a  flavor  of  exaggeration  for  the  sake  of  effect,  and  of  ab 
surdity  for  the  sake  of  easy  refutation  :  how  would  he  have  made 
Berkeley  speak  ?  Somewhat  thus :  "  Yes,  I  maintain  that  there  is 
no  such  external  existence  as  that  which  men  vulgarly  believe  in. 
There  is  no  world  of  matter,  but  only  a  world  of  ideas.  If  I 
were  to  walk  over  a  precipice,  I  should  receive  no  injury ;  it  is 
only  an  ideal  precipice." 

This  is  the  interpretation  of  a  Beattie ;  how  true  it  is  most 
men  know :  it  is,  however,  quite  as  true  as  Plato's  interpretation 
of  the  Sophists.  From  Berkeley's  works  we  can  convict  Beattie. 
Plato  we  can  convict  from  experience  of  human  nature :  experi 
ence  tells  us  that  no  man,  far  less  any  set  of  men,  could  seriously, 
publicly,  and  constantly  broach  doctrines  thought  to  be  subver 
sive  of  all  morality,  without  incurring  the  heaviest  penalties. 
To  broach  immoral  doctrines  with  the  faintest  prospect  of  success, 
a  man  must  do  so  in  the  name  of  rigid  Morality.  To  teach 
immorality,  and  openly  to  avow  that  it  is  immoral,  was,  accord 
ing  to  Plato,  the  office  of  the  Sophists;*  a  statement  which 
carries  with  it  its  own  contradiction. 


*  This  passage  in  the  Protagoras  is  often  referred  to  as  a  proof  of  the 
shamelessness  of  the  Sophists,  and  sometimes  of  the  ill-fuvor  with  which 
they  were  regarded.  It  is  to  us  only  a  proof  of  Plato's  tendency  to  caricature. 


116  THE    SOPHISTS. 


§  II.  PROTAGORAS. 

Nothing  can  be  more  erroneous  than  to  isolate  the  Sophists 
from  previous  teachers,  as  if  they  were  no  direct  product  of  the 
speculative  efforts  which  preceded  them.  They  illustrate  the 
crisis  at  which  philosophy  had  arrived.  They  took  the  negative, 
as  Socrates  took  the  positive  issue  out  of  the  dilemma. 

Protagoras,  the  first  who  is  said  to  have  avowed  himself  a 
Sophist,  was  born  at  Abdera,  where  Democritus  first  noticed  him 
as  a  porter,  who  showed  great  address  in  inventing  the  knot.* 
The  consequence  was  that  Democritus  gave  him  instructions  in 
Philosophy.  The  story  is  apocryphal,  but  indicates  a  connection 
to  have  existed  between  the  speculations  of  the  two  thinkers. 
Let  us  suppose  Protagoras  to  have  accepted  the  doctrine  of  De 
mocritus;  with  him  to  have  rejected  the  unity  of  the  Eleatics 
and  to  have  maintained  the  existence  of  the  Many.  With  this 
he  also  learned  that  thought  is  sensation,  and  that  all  knowledge 
is  therefore  phenomenal.  There  were  two  theories  in  the  Demo- 
critean  system,  which  he  could  not  accept,  viz.  the  Atomic  and 
Reflective.  These  two  imply  each  other.  Reflection  is  necessary 
for  the  idea  of  Atoms ;  and  it  is  from  the  idea  of  Atoms  not  per 
ceived  by  the  sense,  that  the  existence  of  Reflection  is  proved. 
Protagoras  rejected  the  Atoms,  and  could  therefore  reject  Reflec 
tion.  He  said  that  Thought  was  Sensation,  and  all  knowledge 
consequently  individual. 

Did  not  the  place  of  his  birth  no  less  than  the  traditional  story 
lead  one  to  suppose  some  connection  with  Democritus,  we  might 
feel  authorized  to  adopt  certain  expressions  of  Plato,  and  consider 
Protagoras  to  have  derived  his  doctrine  from  Ileraclitus.  He 
certainly  resembles  the  last-named  in  the  main  results  to  which 
his  speculations  led  him.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  fact  is  unques- 

*  What  the  precise  signification  of  ru>>?  is  we  are  unable  to  say.  A  porter's 
knot,  such  as  is  now  used,  is  the  common  interpretation.  Perhaps  Pro 
tagoras  had  contrived  a  sort  of  wooden  machine  such  as  the  glazier's  use, 
and  which  is  used  by  the  porters  in  Greece  and  Italy  to  this  day. 


PKOTAGOEAS.  117 

tionable,  that  he  maintained  the  doctrine  of  Thought  being  iden 
tical  with  and  limited  by  Sensation.  Now,  this  doctrine  implies 
that  every  thing  is  true  relatively — every  sensation  is  a  true  sen 
sation  ;  and,  as  there  is  nothing  but  sensation,  knowledge  is  in 
evitably  fleeting  and  imperfect.  In  a  melancholy  mind,  as  in 
that  of  Heraclitus,  such  a  doctrine  would  deepen  sadness,  till  it 
produced  despair.  In  minds  of  greater  elasticity,  in  men  of  greater 
confidence,  such  a  doctrine  would  lead  to  an  energetic  skepticism. 
In  Protagoras  it  became  the  formula :  "  Man  is  the  measure  of 
all  things." 

Sextus  Empiricus  gives  the  psychological  doctrine  of  Protago 
ras  very  explicitly ;  and  his  account  may  be  received  without 
suspicion.  We  translate  a  portion  of  it : 

"Matter,"  says  Protagoras,  "is  in  a  perpetual  flux  ;*  whilst  it 
undergoes  augmentations  and  losses,  the  senses  also  are  modified, 
according  to  the  age  and  disposition  of  the  body."  He  said,  also, 
that  the  reasons  of  all  phenomena  (appearances)  resided  in  mat 
ter  as  substrata  (TOVJ  Xoyouj  TUVTWV  TWV  <po«vo|Ji£vwv  vtfoxsTtfQai  sv  <r/f 
8X77) ;  so  that  matter,  in  itself,  might  be  whatever  it  appeared  to 
each.  But  men  have  different  perceptions  at  different  times,  ac 
cording  to  the  changes  in  the  thing  perceived.  Whoever  is  in  a 
healthy  state  perceives  things  such  as  they  appear  to  all  others 
in  a  healthy  state,  and  vice  versa.  A  similar  course  holds  with 
respect  to  different  ages,  as  well  as  in  sleeping  and  waking.  Man 
is  therefore  the  criterion  of  that  which  exists ;  all  that  is  perceiv 
ed  by  him  exists,  that  which  is  perceived  by  no  man  does  not 
exist1'! 

Now,  conceive  men  conducted  by  what  they  thought  irresisti 
ble  arguments  to  such  a  doctrine  as  the  above,  and  then  see  how 
naturally  all  the  skepticism  of  the  Sophists  flows  from  it.  The 
difference  between  the  Sophists  and  the  Skeptics  was  this :  they 

*  IV; v  vXtjv  p£Vff.Tfiv  thai,  an  expression  which,  if  not  borrowed  by  Sextus 
from  Plato,  would  confirm  the  conjecture  above  respecting  Heraclitus,  as 
the  source  of  Protagoras's  system. 

f  Ifypot.  Pyrrhon.  p.  44. 


118  THE    SOPHISTS. 

were  both  convinced  of  the  insufficiency  of  all  knowledge,  but 
the  Skeptics  contented  themselves  with  the  conviction,  while 
the  Sophists,  satisfied  with  the  vanity  of  all  endeavor  to  pene 
trate  the  mysteries  of  the  universe,  began  to  consider  their  rela 
tions  to  other  men  :  they  devoted  themselves  to  politics  and 
rhetoric.*  If  there  was  no  possibility  of  Truth,  there  only  re 
mained  the  possibility  of  Persuasion.  If  one  opinion  was  as  true 
as  another — that  is,  if  neither  were  true, — it  was  nevertheless  de 
sirable,  for  the  sake  of  Society,  that  certain  opinions  should  pre 
vail  ;  and,  if  Logic  was  powerless,  Rhetoric  was  efficient.  Hence 
Protagoras  is  made  to  say,  by  Plato,  that  the  wise  man  is  the 
physician  of  the  soul  :  he  cannot  indeed  induce  truer  thoughts 
into  the  mind,  since  all  thoughts  are  equally  true  ;  but  he  can 
induce  healthier  and  more  profitable  thoughts.  He  can  in  the 
same  way  heal  Society,  since  by  the  power  of  oratory  he  can  in 
troduce  good  useful  sentiments  in  the  place  of  those  base  and 
hurtful.f 

This  doctrine  may  be  false  ;  but  is  it  not  a  natural  consequence 
of  the  philosophy  of  the  epoch  ?  It  may  be  immoral ;  but  is  it 
necessarily  the  bold  and  shameless  immorality  attributed  to  the 
Sophists  ?  To  us  it  appears  to  be  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
result  of  a  sense  of  the  radical  insufficiency  of  knowledge.  Pro 
tagoras  had  spent  his  youth  in  the  study  of  philosophy ;  he  had 
found  that  study  vain  and  idle ;  he  had  utterly  rejected  it,  and 
had  turned  his  attention  elsewhere.  A  man  of  practical  ten 
dencies,  he  wanted  a  practical  result.  Failing  in  this,  he  sought 
another  path,  firmly  impressed  with  the  necessity  of  having 
something  more  definite  wherewith  to  enter  the  world  of  action. 
Plato  could  see  no  nobler  end  in  life  than  that  of  contemplating 
Being, — than  that  of  familiarizing  the  mind  with  the  eternal 
Good,  the  Just,  and  the  Beautiful, — of  which  all  goodness,  jus 
tice,  and  beautiful  things  were  the  images.  With  such  a  view 
of  life  it  was  natural  that  he  should  despise  the  skepticism  of  the 

*  See  Plato's  definition  of  the  sophistical  art,  Sophista,  p.  146. 
t  Thewtetus,  p.  228. 


PROTAGORAS.  119 

Sophists.  This  skepticism  is  clearly  set  forth  in  the  following 
passage  from  the  speech  of  Callicles,  in  Plato's  Goryias : 

u Philosophy  is  a  graceful  thing  when  it  is  moderately  culti 
vated  in  youth  ;  but,  if  any  one  occupies  himself  with  it  beyond 
the  proper  age,  it  ruins  him  ;  for,  however  great  may  be  his  nat 
ural  capacity,  if  he  philosophizes  too  long  he  must  of  necessity  be 
inexperienced  in  all  those  things  which  one  who  would  be  great 
and  eminent  must  be  experienced  in.  He  must  be  unacquainted 
with  the  laws  of  his  country,  and  with  the  mode  of  influencing 
other  men  in  the  intercourse  of  life,  whether  private  or  public, 
and  with  the  pleasures  and  passions  of  men ;  in  short,  with  hu 
man  characters  and  manners.  And  when  such  men  are  called 
upon  to  act,  whether  on  a  private  or  public  occasion,  they  expose 
themselves  to  ridicule,  just  as  politicians  do  when  they  come  to 
your  conversation,  and  attempt  to  cope  writh  you  in  argument ; 
for  every  man,  as  Euripides  says,  occupies  hirnself  with  that  in 
which  he  finds  himself  superior  ;  that  in  which  he  is  inferior  he 
avoids,  and  speaks  ill  of  it,  but  praises  what  he  excels  in,  think 
ing  that  in  doing  so  he  is  praising  himself.  The  best  thing,  in 
my  opinion,  is  to  partake  of  both.  It  is  good  to  partake  of  phi 
losophy  by  way  of  education,  and  it  is  not  ungraceful  in  a  young 
man  to  philosophize.  But,  if  he  continues  to  do  so  when  he 
grows  older,  he  becomes  ridiculous,  and  I  feel  towards  him  as  I 
should  towards  a  grown  person  who  lisped  and  played  at  childish 
plays.  When  I  see  an  old  man  still  continuing  to  philosophize, 
I  think  he  deserves  to  be  flogged.  However  great  his  natural 
talents,  he  is  under  the  necessity  of  avoiding  the  assembly  and 
public  places,  where,  as  the  poet  says,  men  become  eminent,  and 
to  hide  himself,  and  to  pass  his  life  whispering  to  two  or  three 
striplings  in  a  corner,  but  never  speaking  out  any  thing  great, 
and  bold,  and  liberal." 

That  Protagoras,  no  less  than  Prodicus,*  was  a  teacher  of  ex- 

*  Frodicus  is  especially  excepted  by  Aristophanes  in  his  sweeping  con 
demnation  of  the  Sophists  ;  and,  indeed,  the  author  of  the  well-known  para 
ble,  The  Choice  of  Hercules,  must  command  the  respect  even  of  antagonists. 


120  THE    SOPHISTS. 

cellent  morality,  if  not  of  the  highest  abstract  views  of  the  Good, 
is  clearly  made  out,  not  only  in  Mr.  Grote's  work,  but  in  that  of 
Zeller,  where  the  Sophists  are  unfavorably  treated  on  the  whole,* 
and  is  indeed  supported  by  the  testimony  of  Plato  and  Xenoplion. 
The  ethics  of  the  Sophists  may  not  have  been  of  a  very  lofty 
kind,  but  they  were  considered,  even  by  enemies,  to  be  adapted 
to  the  exigencies  of  the  day.  They  doubted  the  possibility  of 
Philosophy  ;  they  were  assured  only  of  the  advantage  of  Oratory. 
In  their  visits  to  various  cities,  they  could  not  fail  to  remark 
the  variety  of  laws  and  ordinances  in  the  different  States. 
This  variety  impressed  them  with  a  conviction  that  there  were  no 
such  things  as  Plight  and  Wrong  by  nature,  but  only  by  conven 
tion.  This,  therefore,  became  a  fundamental  precept  with  them. 
It  was  but  a  corollary  of  their  dogma  respecting  Truth.  For 
man  there  was  no  Eternal  Right,  because  there  "vvas  no  Eternal 
Truth  ;  TO  Sixaiov  xou  TO  cuV^pov  ou  q/vtfsi  ccXXo,  vo/xoi :  law  was  but 
the  law  of  each  city.  "  That  which  appears  just  and  honorable 
to  each  city,  is  so  for  that  city,  as  long  as  the  opinion  is  enter 
tained,"  says  Protagoras  in  the  T/iecetetus  (p.  229).  This  denial 
of  abstract  Truth  and  abstract  Justice  is  easily  pushed  to  absurd 
and  immoral  consequences ;  but  we  have  no  evidence  that  such 
consequences  were  maintained  by  the  Sophists.  Plato  often 
judges  them  by  such  consequences ;  but  independently  of  the 
want  of  any  confidence  in  his  representations  as  faithful,  we  can 
often  detect  in  Plato  himself  evidences  of  the  exaggeration  of  his 
general  statements.  Thus,  he  on  various  occasions  makes  the 
Sophists  maintain  that  Might  is  Right.  Moderns,  who  always 
accept  him  as  positive  testimony,  have  therefore  unanimously  re 
peated  this  statement.  Yet,  it  is  obvious  that  they  could  not 
have  held  this  opinion  except  in  a  very  qualified  form.  And,  in 


*  See  PJiilos.  der  Grieclien,  i.  775.  In  one  of  his  notes,  Zeller  alludes  to 
Steinhart's  doubt  respecting  the  authorship  of  the  Myth,  attributed  by  Plato 
to  Protagoras,  as  being  "  quite  worthy  of  Plato  himself.''  This  is  very  char 
acteristic  of  the  ordinary  tone  of  commentators,  and  we  may  well  ask  with 
Zeller,  "  Aber  warum  soil  er  fur  Protagoras  zu  gut  seyn  ?'' 


TROT  AG  OR  AS.  121 

the  first  Book  of  the  Republic,  Thrasymachus  the  Sophist  is  made 
to  explain  his  meaning;  namely,  that  Justice  is  the  law  ordained 
by  the  party  which  is  strongest  in  the  State.  Thus,  in  a  democ 
racy  the  enactments  of  the  people  are  the  laws  :  these  laws  are 
for  their  advantage  ;  therefore  just.  Now,  in  this  admission,  by 
Plato,  of  a  qualification  of  the  abstract  formula,  "  Might  is  Right," 
we  see  evidence  of  that  formula  never  having  been  promulgated 
by  the  Sophists ;  it  was  only  an  interpretation  by  Plato.  What 
they  meant  was  this  :  All  law  is  but  convention  :  the  convention 
of  each  State  is  therefore  just  for  it  ;  and,  inasmuch  as  any  such 
convention  must  necessarily  be  ordained  by  the  strongest  party, 
i.  e.  must  be  the  will  of  the  many,  so  we  may  see  that  justice  is 
but  the  advantage  of  the  strongest. 

The  foregoing  will,  we  trust,  suffice  to  show  that  the  tenets 
attributed  to  them  by  Plato,  are  often  caricatures,  and  admit  of 
very  different  explanation.  Well  might  Gorgias  exclaim,  on 
reading  the  Dialogue  which  bears  his  name,  "  I  did  not  recognize 
myself.  The  young  man,  however,  has  great  talent  for  satire." 

The  Sophists  were  the  natural  production  of  the  opinions  of 
the  epoch.  In  them  we  see  the  first  energetic  protest  against  the 
possibility  of  metaphysical  science.  This  protest,  however,  must 
not  be  confounded  with  the  protest  of  Bacon — must  not  be  mis 
taken  for  the  germ  of  positive  philosophy.  It  was  the  protest._of 
baffled  minds.  The  Philosophy  of  the  day  led  to  skepticism; 
but  with  Skepticism  no  energetic  man  could  remain  contented. 
Philosophy  was  therefore  denounced,  not  because  a  surer,  safer 
path  of  inquiry  had  been  discovered,  but  because  Philosophy  was 
found  to  lead  nowhither.  The  skepticism  of  the  Sophists  was  a 
skepticism  with  which  no  great  speculative  intellect  could  be 
contented.  Accordingly  with  Socrates  Philosophy  again  re 
asserted  her  empire. 

6 


FOURTH  EPOCH. 


A  NEW  ERA   OPENED   BY  THE  INVENTION  OF  A  NEW 
METHOD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

S  O  CE  AXES. 

§  I.    THE  LIFE  OF  SOCRATES. 

WHILST  the  brilliant  Sophists  were  reaping  money  and  renown 
by  protesting  against  Philosophy,  and  teaching  the  word-jugglery 
which  they  called  Disputation  and  Oratory,  there  suddenly  ap 
peared  amongst  them  a  strange  antagonist.  He  was  a  perfect 
contrast  to  them.  They  had  slighted  Truth ;  they  had  denied 
her.  He  had  made  her  his  soul's  mistress ;  and,  with  patient 
labor,  with  untiring  energy,  did  his  large  wise  soul  toil  after  per 
fect  communion  with  her.  They  had  deserted  Truth  for  Money 
and  Renown.  He  had  remained  constant  to  her  in  poverty. 
They  professed  to  teach  every  thing.  He  only  knew  that  he 
knew  nothing  •  and  denied  that  any  thing  could  be  taught.  Yet 
he  believed  he  could  be  of  service  to  his  fellow-men ;  not  by 
teaching,  but  by  helping  them  to  learn.  His  mission  was  to 
examine  the  thoughts  of  others.  This  he  humorously  explained 
by  reference  to  his  mother's  profession,  namely  that  of  a  midwife. 
What  she  did  for  women  in  labor  he  could  do  for  men  pregnant 
with  ideas.  He  was  an  accoucheur  of  ideas.  lie  assisted  ideas 
in  their  birth,  and,  having  brought  them  into  light,  he  examined 
them,  to  see  if  they  were  fit  to  live  :  if  true,  they  were  welcomed ; 


THE    LIFE    OF    SOCRATES.  123 

if  false,  destroyed.  And  for  this  assistance  lie  demanded  no  pe 
cuniary  recompense,  but  steadfastly  refused  every  bribe  of  the 
kind. 

He  was  the  declared  questioner  of  all  men  who  were  renowned 
for  wisdom,  or  any  intellectual  eminence ;  and  they  were  some 
what  puzzled  with  their  new  antagonist.  Who  is  he  ? — Socrates, 
the  son  of  Sophroniscus.  What  does  he  ? — Converse.  For  what 
purpose  ? — To  expose  error. 

Some  gorgeous  Sophists,  in  their  flowing  robes,  followed  by 
crowds  of  eager  listeners,  treated  the  poor  and  humbly-clad  Soc 
rates  with  ineffable  contempt.  He  was  rude  and  ungainly  in 
his  movements;  unlike  all  respectable  citizens  in  his  habits. 
Barefoot,  he  wandered  about  the  streets  of  Athens  absorbed  in 
thought ;  sometimes  he  stood  still  for  hours,  fixed  in  meditation. 
Every  day  he  strolled  into  the  market-place,  and  disputed  with 
all  who  were  willing.  In  appearance  he  resembled  a  Silenus. 
His  flattened  nose,  with  wide  and  upturned  nostrils,  his  project 
ing  eyeballs,  his  thick  and  sensual  lips,  his  squab  figure  and  un-  ~" 
wieldy  bell)',  were  all  points  upon  which  ridicule  might  fasten. 
Yet  when  this  Silenus  spoke  there  was  a  witchery  in  his  tongue 
which  fascinated  those  whom  his  appearance  had  disgusted ;  and 
Alcibiades  declared  that  he  was  forced  to  stop  his  ears  and  flee 
away,  that  he  might  not  sit  down  beside  Socrates  and  "  grow  old 
in  listening  to  his  talk."  Let  us  hear  Alcibiades  describe  him.* 

"  I  will  begin  the  praise  of  Socrates  by  comparing  him  to  a  cer 
tain  statue.  Perhaps  he  will  think  that  this  statue  is  introduced 
for  the  sake  of  ridicule ;  but  I  assure  you  that  it  is  necessary  for 
the  illustration  of  truth.  I  assert,  then,  that  Socrates  is  exactly 
like  those  Silenuses  that  sit  in  the  sculptor's  shops,  and  which 
are  carved  holding  flutes  or  pipes,  but  which,  when  divided  in 
two,  are  found  to  contain  withinside  the  images  of  the  gods.  I 
assert  that  Socrates  is  like  the  Satyr  Marsyas ;  that  your  form 
and  appearance  are  like  these  Satyrs,  I  think  that  even  you  will 

*  Plato,  Si/mposiuw;  Shelley's  translation. 


124  SOCRATES. 

not  venture  to  deny ;  and  how  like  you  are  to  them  in  all  other 
things,  now  hear.     Are  you  not  scornful  and  petulant  ?     If  you 
deny  this,  I  will  bring  witnesses.     Are  you  not  a  piper,  and  far 
more  wonderful  a  one  than  he  ?  for  Marsyas,  and  whoever  now 
pipes  the  music  that  he  taught,  that  music  which  is  of  heaven, 
and  described  as  being  taught  by  Marsyas,  enchants  men  through 
the  power  of  the  mouth ;  for,  if  any  musician,  be  he  skilful  or 
not,  awakens  this  music,  it  alone  enables  him  to  retain  the  minds 
of  men,  and  from  the  divinity  of  its  nature  makes  evident  those 
who  are  in  want  of  the  Gods  and  initiation.     You  differ  only 
from  Marsyas  in  this  circumstance,  that  you  effect  without  instru 
ments,  by  mere  words,  all  that  he  can  do ;  for,  when  we  hear 
Pericles,  or  any  other  accomplished  orator,  deliver  a  discourse, 
no  one,  as  it  were,  cares  any  thing  about  it.     But  when  any  one 
hears  you,  or  even  your  words  related  by  another,  though  ever  so 
rude  and  unskilful  a  speaker,  be  that  person  a  woman,  man,  or 
child,  we  are  struck  and  retained,  as  it  were,  by  the  discourse 
clinging  to  our  minds. 

"  If  I  was  not  afraid  that  I  am  a  great  deal  too  drunk,  I  would 
confirm  to  you  by  an  oath  the  strange  effects  which  I  assure  you 
I  have  suffered  from  his  words,  and  suffer  still ;  for,  when  I  hear 
him  speak,  my  heart  leaps  up  far  more  than  the  hearts  of  those 
who  celebrate  the  Corybantic  Mysteries ;  my  tears  are  poured 
out  as  he  talks — a  thing  I  have  seen  happen  to  many  others  be 
sides  myself.  I  have  heard  Pericles  and  other  excellent  orators, 
and  have  been  pleased  with  their  discourses,  but  I  suffered  noth 
ing  of  this  kind  ;  nor  was  my  soul  ever  on  those  occasions  dis 
turbed  and  filled  with  self-reproach,  as  if  it  were  slavishly  laid 
prostrate.  But  this  Marsyas  here  has  often  affected  me  in  the 
way  I  describe,  until  the  life  which  I  lead  seemed  hardly  worth 
living.  Do  not  deny  it,  Socrates  ;  for  I  well  know  that  if  even 
now  I  chose  to  listen  to  you,  I  could  not  resist,  but  should  again 
suffer  the  same  effects ;  for,  my  friends,  he  forces  me  to  confess, 
that  while  I  myself  am  still  in  want  of  many  things,  I  neglect 
my  own  necessities,  and  attend  to  those  of  the  Athenians.  I  stop 


THE    LIFE    OF    SOCRATES.  125 

my  ears,  therefore,  as  from  the  Sirens,  and  flee  away  as  fast  as 
possible,  that  I  may  not  sit  clown  beside  him  and  grow  old  in 
listening  to  his  talk;  for  this  man  has  reduced  me  to  feel  the 
sentiment  of  shame,  which  I  imagine  no  one  would  readily  be 
lieve  was  in  me ;  he  alone  inspires  me  with  remorse  and  awe ; 
for  I  feel  in  his  presence  my  incapacity  of  refuting  what  he  says, 
or  of  refusing  to  do  that  which  he  directs ;  but,  when  I  depart 
from  him,  the  glory  which  the  multitude  confers  overwhelms  me. 
I  escape,  therefore,  and  hide  myself  from  him,  and  when  I  see 
him  I  am  overwhelmed  with  humiliation,  because  I  have  neglect 
ed  to  do  what  I  have  confessed  to  him  ought  to  be  done  ;  and 
often  and  often  have  I  wished  that  he  were  no  longer  to  be  seen 
among  men.  But,  if  that  were  to  happen,  I  well  know  that  I 
should  suffer  far  greater  pain ;  so  that  where  I  can  turn,  or  what 
I  can  do  with  this  man,  I  know  not.  All  this  have  I  and  many 
others  suffered  from  the  pipings  of  this  Satyr. 

"  And  observe  how  like  he  is  to  what  I  said,  and  what  a  won 
derful  power  he  possesses.  I  know  that  there  is  not  one  of  you 
who  is  aware  of  the  real  nature  of  Socrates ;  but  since  I  have  be 
gun,  I  will  make  him  plain  to  you.  You  observe  how  passion 
ately  Socrates  affects  the  intimacy  of  those  who  are  beautiful, 
and  how  ignorant  he  professes  himself  to  be ;  appearances  in 
themselves  excessively  Silenic.  This,  my  friends,  is  the  external 
form  with  which,  like  one  of  the  sculptured  Sileni,  he  has  clothed 
himself;  for,  if  you  open  him,  you  will  find  within  admirable 
temperance  and  wisdom  :  for  he  cares  not  for  mere  beauty,  but 
despises  more  than  any  one  can  imagine  all  external  possessions, 
whether  it  be  beauty,  or  wealth,  or  glory,  or  any  other  thing  for 
which  the  multitude  felicitates  the  possessor.  He  esteems  these 
things,  and  us  who  honor  them,  as  nothing,  and  lives  among 
men,  making  all  the  objects  of  their  admiration  the  playthings  of 
his  irony.  But  I  know  not  if  any  one  of  you  have  ever  seen  the 
divine  images  which  are  within,  when  he  has  been  opened  and 
is  serious.  I  have  seen  them,  and  they  are  so  supremely  beauti 
ful,  so  golden,  so  divine  and  wonderful,  that  every  thing  which 


126  SOCRATES. 

Socrates  commands  surely  ought  to  be  obeyed,  even  like  the  voice 
of  a  God. 

"  Many  other  and  most  wonderful  qualities  might  well  be 
praised  in  Socrates,  but  such  as  these  might  singly  be  attributed 
to  others.  But  that  which  is  unparalleled  in  Socrates  is,  that  he 
is  unlike,  and  above  comparison  with  all  other  men,  whether 
those  who  have  lived  in  ancient  times,  or  those  who  exist  now ; 
for,  it  may  be  conjectured,  that  Brasidas  and  many  others  are 
such  as  was  Achilles.  Pericles  deserves  comparison  \vith  Nestor 
and  Antenor ;  and  other  excellent  persons  of  various  times  may, 
with  probability,  be  drawn  into  comparison  with  each  other. 
But  to  such  a  singular  man  as  this,  both  himself  and  his  dis 
courses  are  so  uncommon,  no  one,  should  he  seek,  would  find  a 
parallel  among  the  present  or  the  past  generations  of  mankind ; 
unless  they  should  say  that  he  resembled  those  with  whom  I 
lately  compared  him ;  for,  assuredly,  he  and  his  discourses  are 
like  nothing  but  the  Sileni  and  the  Satyrs.  At  first  I  forgot  to 
make  you  observe  how  like  his  discourses  are  to  those  Satyrs 
when  they  are  opened  ;  for,  if  any  one  will  listen  to  the  talk  of 
Socrates,  it  will  appear  to  him  at  first  extremely  ridiculous ;  the 
phrases  and  expressions  which  he  employs  fold  around  his  exte 
rior  the  skin,  as  it  were,  of  a  rude  and  wanton  Satyr.  He  is  al 
ways  talking  about  brass-founders,  and  leather-cutters,  and  skin- 
dressers  ;  and  this  is  his  perpetual  custom,  so  that  any  dull  and 
unobservant  person  might  easily  laugh  at  his  discourse.  But,  if 
any  one  should  see  it  opened,  as  it  were,  and  get  within  the  sense 
of  his  words,  he  would  then  find  that  they  alone  of  all  that  enters 
into  the  mind  of  man  to  utter,  had  a  profound  and  persuasive 
meaning,  and  that  they  were  most  divine;  and  that  they  pre 
sented  to  the  mind  innumerable  images  of  every  excellence,  and 
that  they  tended  towards  objects  of  the  highest  moment,  or  rather 
towards  all  that  he  who  seeks  the  possession  of  what  is  supremely 
beautiful  and  good  need  regard  as  essential  to  the  accomplish 
ment  of  his  ambition. 

"  These  are  the  things,  my  friends,  for  which  I  praise  Socrates." 


THE    LIFE   OF  SOCRATES.  127 

This  Silenus  was  the  most  formidable  antagonist  that  the  Soph 
ists  had  encountered  ;  but  this  is  small  praise  for  him  who  was 
hereafter  to  become  one  of  the  most  reverenced  names  in  the 
world's  Pantheon  —  who  was  to  give  a  new  impulse  to  the  human 
mind,  and  leave,  as  an  inheritance  to  mankind,  the  grand  exam 
ple  of  an  heroic  life  devoted  to  Truth  and  crowned  with  mar 
tyrdom. 

Every  thing  about  Socrates  is  remarkable  —  personal  appear 
ance,  moral  physiognomy,  position,  object,  method,  life  and 
death.  Fortunately,  his  character  and  his  tendencies  have  been 
so  clearly  pictured  in  the  works  of  Plato  and  Xenophon,  that  al 
though  the  portrait  may  be  flattered,  we  are  sure  of  its  resem 
blance. 

He  was  born  B.C.  469,  the  son  of  Sophroniscus,  a  sculptor,* 
and  Phasnarete,  a  midwife.  His  parents,  though  poor,  managed, 
it  is  said,  to  give  him  the  ordinary  education.  Besides  which, 
he  learned  his  father's  art  ;  whether  he  made  any  progress  in  it 
we  are  unable  to  say  :  probably  not,  as  he  relinquished  it  early. 
A  group  of  Graces,  which  tradition  attributed  to  the  chisel  of 
Socrates,  was  exhibited  for  centuries  among  the  art  treasures  of 
the  Acropolis  ;  but  we  have  of  course  no  means  of  determining 
the  authenticity  of  the  relic.  Diogenes  Laertius  tells  us  that 
Crito,  a  wealthy  Athenian,  charmed  with  the  manners  of  Soc 
rates,  is  said  to  have  withdrawn  him  from  the  shop,  and  to  have 
educated  him.  This.  Crito  afterwards  became  a  reverential  dis 
ciple  of  the  great  genius  he  had  discovered. 

Considering  that  we  have  his  own  assertion  as  evidence  of  his 
having  early  studied  Physics,  for  which  he  had  an  astonishing 
longing,  and  considering  further  that  he  so  entirely  relinquished 
that  study,  even  declaring  it  to  be  impious,f  it  is  of  little  impor 
tance  to  discuss,  with  German  critics,  whether  he  did  or  did  not 


*  Dr.  Wiggers  says,  that  Timon  the  Sillograph  calls  Socrates,  with  a  sneer, 
Xido&os,  "a  stone-scraper."  He  forgets  that  At0o£<5os  was  one  of  the  names 
for  a  sculptor,  as  Lucian  informs  us  in  the  account  of  his  early  life. 

t  In  Xenophon,  "madness."  —  Memorab.,  lib.  i.  c.  1. 


128  SOCRATES. 

learn  from  Archelaus  and  Anaxagoras.  That  he  learned  oratory 
from  Prodicus*  is  not  discountenanced  by  the  passage  in  Xeno- 
phon,f  where  he  is  made  to  say,  "  You  despise  me  because  you 
have  squandered  money  upon  Protagoras,  Gorgias,  Prodicus,  and 
so  many  others,  in  return  for  their  teaching ;  whereas  I  am  forced 
to  draw  my  philosophy  from  my  own  brain  ;"  for  certainly,  if 
any  one  can  claim  originality,  it  is  Socrates  :  his  philosophy  he 
learned  from  no  one.  He  struck  into  a  new  path.  Instead  of 
trying  to  account  for  the  existence  of  the  universe,  he  was  ever 
craving,  as  Mr.  Maurice  well  says,  for  a  light  to  show  him  his 
own  path  through  it  J 

He  did  not  commence  teaching  till  about  the  middle  of  his 
career.  We  have  but  few  records  of  the  events  which  filled  up 
the  period  between  his  first  leaving  his  father  and  his  first  teach 
ing.  One  of  these  was  his  marriage  with  Xanthippe,  and  the 
domestic  squabbles  which  ensued.  She  bore  him  three  children. 
The  violence  of  her  temper,  and  the  equanimity  with  which  he 
submitted  to  it,  are  proverbial.  She  has  become  a  type  ;  her 
name  is  synonymous  with  Shrew.  He  gave  a  playful  explana 
tion  of  his  choice  by  remarking,  that  "those  who  wish  to  become 
skilled  in  horsemanship  select  the  most  spirited  horses;  after 
being  able  to  bridle  those,  they  believe  they  can  bridle  all  others. 
Now,  as  it  is  my  wish  to  live  and  converse  with  men,  I  married 
this  woman,  being  firmly  convinced  that  in  case  I  should  be  able 
to  endure  her,  I  should  be  able  to  endure  all  others."§ 

Before  he  gave  himself  up  to  teaching,  he  performed  military 
service  in  three  battles,  and  distinguished  himself  in  each.  In 
the  first,  the  prize  of  bravery  was  awarded  to  him.  He  relin 
quished  his  claim  in  favor  of  Alcibiades,  whom  it  might  encour 
age  to  deserve  such  honor.  Various  anecdotes  are  related  of  him 
during  his  campaigns.  In  spite  of  the  severity  of  winter,  when 
the  ice  and  snow  were  thick  upon  the  ground,  he  went  barefoot 

*  Plato,  Meno,  p.  96.  t   Convivium,  i.  &. 

\  Maurice,  Moral  and  Metaphysical  Philosophy,  i.  113, 
§  Xenophon,  Convivium,  iL 


THE    LIFE    OF    SOCRATES.  129 

and  lightly  clad.  On  one  occasion  he  stood  before  the  camp 
for  four-and-twenty  hours  on  the  same  spot,  wrapt  in  medi 
tation.  Plato  has  given  us  a  beautiful  description  of  Soc 
rates  during  the  campaign,  which  we  quote  in  the  translation 
by  Shelley : 

"At  one  time  we  were  fellow-soldiers,  and  had  our  mess  to 
gether  in  the  camp  before  Potidaea.  Socrates  there  overcame 
not  only  me,  but  every  one  besides,  in  endurance  of  toils :  when, 
as  happens  in  a  campaign,  we  were  reduced  to  few  provisions, 
there  were  none  who  could  sustain  hunger  like  Socrates:  and, 
when  we  had  plenty,  he  alone  seemed  to  enjoy  our  military  fare. 
He  never  drank  much  willingly ;  but,  when  he  was  compelled,  lie 
conquered  all  even  in  that  to  which  he  was  least  accustomed, 
and,  what  is  most  astonishing,  no  person  ever  saw  Socrates  drunk 
either  then  or  at  any  other  time.  In  the  depth  of  winter  (and 
the  winters  there  are  excessively  rigid)  he  sustained  calmly  in 
credible  hardships :  and,  amongst  other  things,  whilst  the  frost 
was  intolerably  severe,  and  no  one  went  out  of  their  tents,  or,  if 
they  went  out,  wrapt  themselves  up  carefully  and  put  fleeces 
under  their  feet,  and  bound  their  legs  with  hairy  skins,  Socrates 
went  out  only  with  the  same  cloak  on  that  he  usually  wore,  and 
walked  barefoot  upon  the  ice,  more  easily  indeed  than  those  who 
had  sandalled  themselves  so  delicately  :  so  that  the  soldiers 
thought  that  he  did  it  to  mock  their  want  of  fortitude.  It  would 
indeed  be  worth  while  to  commemorate  all  that  this  brave  man 
did  and  endured  in  that  expedition. 

"In  one  instance  he  was  seen  early  in  the  morning,  standing 
in  one  place,  wrapt  in  meditation,  and,  as  he  seemed  not  to  be 
able  to  unravel  the  subject  of  his  thoughts,  lie  still  continued  to 
stand  as  inquiring  and  discussing  within  himself;  and,  when 
noon  came,  the  soldiers  observed  him,  and  said  to  one  another, 
'  Socrates  has  been  standing  there  thinking,  ever  since  the  morn 
ing.'  At  last  some  lonians  came  to  the  spot,  and,  having  supped, 
as  it  was  summer,  bringing  their  blankets,  they  lay  down  to  sleep 
in  the  cool :  the  observed  that  Socrates  continued  to  stand  there 


130  SOCRATES. 

the  whole  night  until  morning,  and  that,  when  the  sun  rose,  he 
saluted  it  with  a  prayer,  and  departed. 

"  I  ought  not  to  omit  what  Socrates  is  in  battle ;  for,  in  that 
battle  after  which  the  Generals  decreed  to  me  the  prize  of  cour 
age,  Socrates  alone  of  all  men  was  the  savior  of  my  life,  stand 
ing  by  me  when  I  had  fallen  and  was  wounded,  and  preserving 
both  myself  and  my  arms  from  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  On 
that  occasion  I  entreated  the  Generals  to  decree  the  prize,  as  it 
was  most  due,  to  him.  And  this,  O  Socrates,  you  cannot  deny, 
that  when  the  Generals,  wishing  to  conciliate  a  person  of  my 
rank,  desired  to  give  me  the  prize,  you  were  far  more  earnestly 
desirous  than  the  Generals,  that  this  glory  should  be  attributed, 
not  to  yourself,  but  me. 

"  But  to  see  Socrates  when  our  army  was  defeated  and  scat 
tered  in  flight  at  Delium,  was  a  spectacle  worthy  to  behold.  On 
that  occasion  I  was  among  the  cavalry,  and  he  on  foot,  heavily 
armed.  After  the  total  rout  of  our  troops,  he  and  Laches  retreated 
together :  I  came  up  by  chance,  and,  seeing  them,  bade  them  be 
of  good  cheer,  for  that  I  would  not  leave  them.  As  I  was  on 
horseback,  and  therefore  less  occupied  by  a  regard  of  my  own 
situation,  I  could  better  observe,  than  at  Potidaea,  the  beautiful 
spectacle  exhibited  by  Socrates  on  this  emergency.  How  supe 
rior  was  he  to  Laches  in  presence  of  mind  and  courage  !  Your 
representation  of  him  on  the  stage,  O  Aristophanes,  was  not 
wholly  unlike  his  real  self  on  this  occasion ;  for  he  walked  and 
darted  his  regards  around  with  a  majestic  composure,  looking 
tranquilly  both  on  his  friends  and  enemies;  so  that  it  was  evi 
dent  to  every  one,  even  from  afar,  that  whoever  should  venture 
to  attack  him  would  encounter  a  desperate  resistance.  He  and 
his  companion  thus  departed  in  safety ;  for  those  who  are  scat 
tered  in  flight  are  pursued  and  killed,  whilst  men  hesitate  to 
touch  those  who  exhibit  such  a  countenance  as  that  of  Socrates, 
even  in  defeat." 

We  must  cast  a  glance  at  his  public  career.  His  doctrine  be 
ing  Ethical,  there  is  great  importance  in  seeing  how  far  it  was 


THE    LIFE    OF    SOCRATES.  131 

practical.  He  proclaimed  the  supremacy  of  Virtue  over  all  other 
rules  of  life ;  he  exhorted  men  to  a  brave  and  unflinching  adhe 
sion  to  Justice,  as  the  only  real  happiness  ;  he  declared  that  the 
unjust  alone  are  unhappy.  Was  he  himself  virtuous  ?  was  he 
happy  ?  The  question  is  pertinent ;  fortunately  it  can  be  an 
swered. 

His  bravery  as  a  soldier  was  surpassed  by  his  bravery  as  a 
Senator.  He  had  that  high  moral  courage  which  can  brave  not 
only  death,  but  opinion.  lie  presents  an  example,  almost  unique 
in  history,  of  a  man  who  could  defy  a  tyrant,  and  also  defy  a 
tyrannical  mob,  an  impetuous,  imperious  mob.  The  Thirty  Ty 
rants  on  one  occasion  summoned  him,  together  with  four  others, 
to  the  Tholus,  the  place  in  which  the  Prytanes  took  their  meals. 
He  was  there  commanded  to  bring  Leon  of  Salamis  to  Athens. 
Leon  had  obtained  the  right  of  Athenian  citizenship,  but  fearing 
the  rapacity  of  the  tyrants,  had  retired  to  Salamis.  To  bring 
back  Leon,  Socrates  steadily  refused.  He  says  himself,  that  the 
"Government,  although  it  was  so  powerful,  did  not  frighten  me 
into  doing  any  thing  unjust;  but,  when  we  came  out  of  the  Tho 
lus,  the  four  went  to  Salamis  and  took  Leon,  but  I  went  away 
home.  And  perhaps  I  should  have  suffered  death  on  account  of 
this,  if  the  Government  had  not  soon  been  broken  up." 

On  another  occasion  he  braved  the  clamorous  mob.  He  was 
then  a  Senator,  the  only  State  office  he  ever  held.  The  Athenian 
Senate  consisted  of  the  Five  Hundred  who  were  elected  from  the 
ten  tribes.  During  a  period  of  thirty-five  or  thirty-six  days  the 
members  of  each  tribe  in  turn  had  the  presidency,  and  were  call 
ed  Prytanes.  Of  the  fifty  Prytanes,  ten  had  the  presidency  every 
seven  days ;  each  day  one  of  these  ten  enjoyed  the  highest  dig 
nity,  with  the  name  of  Espitdtes.  He  laid  every  thing  before 
the  assembly  of  the  people,  put  the  question  to  the  vote,  examined 
the  votes,  and,  in  short,  conducted  the  whole  business  of  the  as 
sembly.  He  enjoyed  this  power,  however,  only  for  a  single  day ; 
for  that  day  he  was  intrusted  with  the  keys  of  the  citadel  and 
the  treasury  of  the  republic. 


132  SOCEATES. 

Socrates  was  Epistates  on  the  day  when  the  unjust  sentence 
was  to  be  passed  on  the  Admirals  who  had  neglected  to  bury  the 
dead  after  the  battle  of  Argimisae.  To  take  care  of  the  burial  of 
the  dead  was  a  sacred  duty.*  The  shades  of  the  unburied  were 
believed  to  wander  restlessly  for  a  hundred  years  on  the  banks 
of  the  Styx.  After  the  battle  of  Arginusa?,  a  violent  storm  arose, 
which  prevented  the  Admirals  from  obtaining  the  bodies  of  the 
slain.  In  order  to  remedy  this,  they  left  behind  them  some  infe 
rior  officers  (Taxiarchs)  to  attend  to  the  office.  But  the  violence 
of  the  storm  rendered  it  impossible.  The  Admirals  were  tried. 
They  produced  the  evidence  of  the  pilots  to  show  that  the  tem 
pest  had  rendered  the  burial  impracticable  ;  besides  which  they 
had  left  the  Taxiarchs  behind,  so  that  the  blame,  if  any,  ought  to 
fall  on  the  latter.  This  produced  its  natural  effect  on  the  people, 
who  would  instantly  have  given  an  acquittal  if  put  to  the  vote. 
But  the  accusers  managed  to  adjourn  the  assembly,  pretending 
that  it  was  too  dark  to  count  the  show  of  hands.  In  the  mean 
while  the  enemies  of  the  Admirals  did  all  they  could  to  inflame 
the  minds  of  the  people.  The  lamentations  and  mournful  ap 
pearance  of  the  kinsmen  of  the  slain,  who  had  been  hired  for  the 
tragic  scene,  had  a  powerful  influence  on  the  assembly.  The 
votes  were  to  be  given  on  the  general  question,  whether  the  Ad 
mirals  had  done  wrong  in  not  taking  up  the  bodies  of  the 
dead  ;  and,  if  they  should  be  condemned  by  the  majority  (so  the 
Senate  ordained),  they  were  to  be  put  to  death  and  their  prop 
erty  confiscated.  But  to  condemn  all  by  one  vote  was  contrary 
to  law.  The  Prytanes,  with  Socrates  at  their  head,  refused  to 
put  the  illegal  question  to  the  vote.  The  people  became  furious, 
and  loudly  demanded  that  those  who  resisted  their  pleasure, 
should  themselves  be  brought  to  trial.  The  Prytanes  wavered, 
yielded.  Socrates  alone  remained  firm,  defying  the  threats  of 
the  mob.  He  stood  there  to  administer  justice.  lie  would  not 
administer  injustice.  In  consequence  of  his  refusal,  the  ques- 

*  The  Antigone  of  Sophocles  is  founded  on  the  sacredness  of  this  duty. 


THE   LIFE   OF   SOCRATES.  133 

tion  could  not  be  put  to  the  vote,  and  the  assembly  was  again 
adjourned.  The  next  day  a  new  Epistates  and  other  presidents 
succeeded,  and  the  Admirals  were  condemned.* 

It  was  impossible  for  Socrates  to  enter  the  market-place  with 
out  at  once  becoming  an  object  of  attention.  His  ungainly  fig 
ure,  his  moral  character,  and  his  bewitching  tongue,  excited  and 
enchained  curiosity.  He  became  known  to  every  citizen.  Who 
had  not  listened  to  him  1  Who  had  not  enjoyed  his  inimitable 
irony  ?  Who  had  not  seen  him  demolish  the  arrogance  and  pre 
tension  of  some  reputed  wise  man  ?  Socrates  must  have  been  a 
terrible  antagonist  to  all  people  who  believed  that  they  were  wise 
because  they  could  discourse  fluently ;  and  these  were  not  few. 
He  always  declared  that  he  knew  nothing.  When  a  man  pro 
fessed  knowledge  on  any  point,  especially  if  admiring  crowds 
gave  testimony  to  that  profession,  Socrates  was  sure  to  step  up  to 
him,  and,  professing  ignorance,  entreat  to  be  taught.  Charmed 
with  so  humble  a  listener,  the  teacher  began.  Interrogated,  he 
unsuspectingly  assented  to  some  very  evident  proposition  ;  a  con 
clusion  from  that,  almost  as  evident,  next  received  his  assent ; 
from  that  moment  he  was  lost.  With  great  power  of  logic,  with 
much  ingenious  subtlety,  and  sometimes  with  daring  sophistica 
tion,  a  web  was  formed  from  which  he  could  not  extricate  himself. 
His  own  admissions  were  proved  to  lead  to  monstrous  conclu 
sions  ;  these  conclusions  he  repugned,  but  could  not  see  where 
the  gist  of  his  error  lay.  The  laughter  of  all  bystanders  bespoke 
his  defeat.  Before  him  was  his  adversary,  imperturbably  calm, 
apparently  innocent  of  all  attempt  at  making  him  ridiculous. 
Confused,  but  not  confuted,  he  left  the  spot  indignant  with  him 
self,  but  more  indignant  with  the  subtlety  of  his  adversary. 

It  was  thus  that  Socrates  became  mistaken  for  a  Sophist ;  but 
he  was  distinguished  from  the  Sophists  by  his  constant  object. 
Whilst  they  denied  the  possibility  of  truth,  he  only  sought  to 
make  truth  evident,  in  the  ironical,  playful,  and,  sometimes,  quib- 

*  Wiggers,  pp.  51-55. 


134:  SOCRATES. 

bling  manner  in  which  he  destroyed  the  arguments  of  opponents. 
Truth  was  his  object,  even  in  his  lightest  moments. 

This  sort  of  disputation  daily  occurred  in  Athens ;  and  by  it, 
doubtless,  Socrates  acquired  that  notoriety  which  induced  Aris 
tophanes  to  select  him  as  the  Sophist  hero  of  the  comedy  of  The 
Clouds.  No  one  will  doubt  that  to  his  adversaries  he  must  have 
been  an  exasperating  opponent.  No  one  was  safe  from  his  attack. 
No  one  who  presumed  to  know  any  thing  could  escape  him.  In 
confirmation,  let  us  quote  the  account  Socrates  gives  of  his  pro 
cedure,  as  reported  by  Plato  in  the  Apology.  Socrates  there  de 
scribes  his  sensations  on  hearing  that  Apollo  had  declared  him  to 
be  the  wisest  of  men.  He  could  not  understand  this.  Knowing 
himself  to  be  wise  in  nothing,  yet  not  daring  to  think  the  words 
of  the  god  could  be  false,  he  wras  puzzled.  "  I  went  to  one  of 
those  who  are  esteemed  to  be  wise,  thinking  that  here,  if  any 
where,  I  should  prove  the  oracle  to  be  wrong,  and  to  be  able  to 
say,  '  Here  is  a  man  wiser  than  I.'  After  examining  this  man 
(I  need  not  name  him,  but  he  was  one  of  the  politicians),  and 
conversing  with  him,  it  was  my  opinion  that  this  man  seemed  to 
many  others,  and  especially  to  himself,  to  be  wise,  but  was  not 
so.  Thereupon  I  tried  to  convince  him  that  he  thought  himself 
wise,  but  was  not.  By  this  means  I  offended  him  and  many  of 
the  bystanders.  When  I  went  away,  I  said  to  myself,  '  I  am 
wiser  than  this  man  ;  for  neither  of  us,  it  would  seem,  knows  any 
thing  valuable  :  but  he,  not  knowing,  fancies  he  does  know  ;  I, 
as  I  really  do  not  know,  so  I  do  not  think  I  know.  I  seem,  there 
fore,  to  be  in  one  small  matter  wiser  than  he.'  After  this  I  went 
to  another  still  wiser  than  he,  and  came  to  the  same  result ;  and 
by  this  I  affronted  him  too,  and  many  others.  I  went  on  in  the 
same  manner,  perceiving  with  sorrow  and  fear  that  I  was  making 
enemies ;  but  it  seemed  necessary  to  postpone  all  other  considera 
tions  to  the  service  of  the  god,  and  therefore  to  seek  for  the 
meaning  of  the  oracle  by  going  to  all  who  appeared  to  know  any 
thing.  And,  O  Athenians,  the  impression  made  on  me  was  this  : 
The  persons  of  most  reputation  seemed  to  me  nearly  the  most 


THE   LIFE   OF   SOCRATES.  135 

deficient  of  all ;  other  persons  of  much  smaller  account  seemed 
much  more  rational. 

"  When  I  had  done  with  the  politicians,  1  went  to  the  poets, 
tragic,  dithyrambic,  and  others,  thinking  that  I  should  surely  find 
myself  less  knowing  than  they.  Taking  up  those  of  their  poems 
which  appeared  to  me  most  labored,  I  asked  them  (that  I  might 
at  the  same  time  learn  something  from  them)  what  these  poems 
meant?  I  am  ashamed,  O  Athenians,  to  say  the  truth,  but  I 
must  say  it ;  there  was  scarcely  a  person  present  who  could  not 
have  spoken  better  concerning  their  poems  than  they.  I  soon 
found  that  what  poets  do,  they  accomplish  not  by  wisdom,  but 
by  a  kind  of  natural  turn,  and  an  enthusiasm  like  that  of  proph 
ets  and  those  who  utter  oracles  ;  for  these,  too,  speak  many  fine 
things,  but  do  not  know  one  particle  of  what  they  speak. 

"  Lastly,  I  resorted  to  artificers  ;  for  I  was  conscious  that  I  my 
self  knewr,  in  a  manner,  nothing  at  all,  but  should  find  them 
knowing  many  valuable  things.  And  in  this  I  was  not  mistaken  ; 
they  knew  things  which  I  knew  not,  and  were,  so  far,  wiser  than 
I.  But  they  appeared  to  me  to  fall  into  the  same  error  as  the 
poets ;  each,  because  he  was  skilled  in  his  own  art,  insisted  upon 
being  the  wisest  man  in  other  and  greater  things ;  and  this 
mistake  of  theirs  overshadowed  what  they  possessed  of  wisdom. 
From  this  search,  0  Athenians,  the  consequences  to  me  have 
been,  on  the  one  hand,  many  enmities,  and  of  the  most  formi 
dable  kind,  which  have  brought  upon  me  many  false  imputa 
tions  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  name  and  general  repute  of  a 
wise  man." 

Socrates,  like  Dr.  Johnson,  did  not  care  for  the  country.  "  Sir," 
said  the  Doctor,  "  when  you  have  seen  one  green  field,  you  have 
seen  all  green  fields  :  Sir,  I  like  to  look  upon  men.  Let  us  walk 
down  Cheapside."  In  words  of  the  same  import  does  Socrates 
address  Phredrus,  who  accused  him  of  being  unacquainted  even 
with  the  neighborhood  of  Athens.  "  I  am  very  anxious  to  learn  ; 
and  from'  fields  and  trees  I  can  learn  nothing.  I  can  only  learn 
from  men  in  the  city."  And  he  was  always  to  be  found  where 


136  SOCRATES. 

men  were  assembled.*  Ready  to  argue  with  every  one,  lie  de 
manded  money  from  none.  He  gave  no  lectures  :  he  only  talked. 
He  wrote  no  books :  he  argued.f  He  cannot  properly  be  said 
to  have  had  a  school,  since  he  did  not  even  give  a  systematic  ex 
position  of  his  doctrine.  What  has  been  called  his  school,  must 
be  understood  to  refer  to  the  many  delighted  admirers  whose 
custom  it  was  to  surround  him  whenever  he  appeared,  to  talk 
with  him  as  often  as  possible,  and  to  accept  his  leading  opinions. 
"  At  what  time  Socrates  relinquished  his  profession  as  a  statu 
ary  we  do  not  know  ;  but  it  is  certain  that  all  the  middle  and 
later  part  of  his  life,  at  least,  was  devoted  exclusively  to  the  self- 
imposed  task  of  teaching;  excluding  all  other  business,  public  or 
private,  and  to  the  neglect  of  all  means  of  fortune.  We  can 
hardly  avoid  speaking  of  him  as  a  teacher,  though  he  himself  dis 
claimed  the  appellation;  his  practice  was  to  talk  or  converse. 
Early  in  the  morning  he  frequented  the  public  walks,  the  gym 
nasia  for  bodily  training,  and  the  schools  where  youths  were  re 
ceiving  instruction  ;  he  was  to  be  seen  in  the  market-place  at  the 
hour  when  it  was  most  crowded,  among  the  booths  and  tables 
where  goods  were  exposed  for  sale  ;  his  whole  day  was  usually 
spent  in  this  public  manner.  He  talked  with  any  one,  young  or 
old,  rich  or  poor,  who  sought  to  address  him,  and  in  the  hearing 
of  all  who  stood  by ;  not  only  he  never  either  asked  or  received 
any  reward,  but  he  made  no  distinction  of  persons,  never  with 
held  his  conversation  from  any  one,  and  talked  on  the  same  gen 
eral  subjects  with  all.  ...  As  it  was  engaging,  curious,  and 
instructive  to  hear,  certain  persons  made  it  their  habit  to  attend 
him  in  public,  as  companions  and  listeners.  These  men,  a  fluctu 
ating  body,  were  commonly  known  as  his  disciples  and  scholars ; 
though  neither  he  nor  his  personal  friends  ever  employed  the 

*  Xenophon,  Memorab.  \.  1.  Kal  sXtye  //£i»  ws  TO  noXii,  TOIJ  6t  (3ov\oxivois 
f&v  drovciv. 

f  We  are,  therefore,  disposed  to  accept  as  historical,  the  language  Plato 
puts  into  his  mouth  respecting  the  inefficiency  of  books.  Books,  cannot  be 
interrogated,  cannot  answer ;  therefore,  cannot  teach  :  we  can  oniy  learn 
from  them  that  which  we  knew  before. — Phcedrus,  p.  96. 


THE   LIFE   OF   SOCKATES.  137 

terms  teacher  and  disciple  to  describe  the  relation  between  them. 
Now  no  other  person  in  Athens,  nor  in  any  other  Grecian  city, 
appears  ever  to  have  manifested  himself  in  this  perpetual  and  in 
discriminate  manner,  as  a  public  talker  for  instruction.  By  the 
peculiar  mode  of  life  which  Socrates  pursued,  not  only  his  con 
versation  reached  the  minds  of  a  much  wider  circle,  but  he  be 
came  more  abundantly  known  as  a  person.  AVhile  acquiring  a 
few  friends  and  admirers,  and  raising  a  certain  intellectual  interest 
in  others,  he  at  the  same  time  provoked  a  large  number  of  per 
sonal  enemies.  This  was  probably  the  reason  why  he  was  se 
lected  by  Aristophanes  and  the  other  comic  writers  to  be  attacked 
as  a  general  representative  of  philosophical  and  rhetorical  teach- 
ing."* 

Although  Socrates  was  a  knight-errant  of  philosophy,  ever  on 
the  alert  to  rescue  some  forlorn  truth  from  the  dungeons  of  pre 
judice,  and  therefore  was  not  scrupulous  as  to  who  or  what  his 
adversary  might  be,  yet  his  especial  enemies  were  the  Sophists. 
He  never  neglected  an  opportunity  of  refuting  them.  He  com 
bated  them  with  their  own  weapons,  and  on  their  own  ground. 
He  knew  all  their  tactics.  He  knew  their  strength  and  their 
weakness.  Like  them  he  had  studied  Physics,  in  the  specula 
tions  of  the  early  thinkers ;  and  like  them  had  seen  that  these 
speculations  led  to  no  certainty.  But  he  had  not,  like  them, 
made  skepticism  a  refuge  ;  he  had  not  proclaimed  Truth  to  be  a 
Phantom,  because  he  could  not  embrace  her.  No :  defeated  in 
his  endeavor  to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  the  world  without,  he 
turned  his  attention  to  the  world  within.  For  Physics  he  sub 
stituted  Morals.  The  certitude  which  he  failed  to  gain  respect 
ing  the  operations  of  nature,  had  not  shaken  his  conviction  of  the 
certitude  of  the  moral  truths  which  his  conscience  irresistibly 
impressed  upon  his  attention.  The  world  of  sense  might  be 
fleeting  and  deceptive.  The  voice  of  conscience  could  not  de 
ceive.  Turning  his  attention  inwards,  he  discovered  certain 

*  Grote,  viii.  555. 


138  SOCKATES. 

truths  which  admitted  of  no  question.  They  were  eternal,  im 
mutable,  evident.  These  he  opposed  to  the  skepticism  of  the 
Sophists:  Moral  certitude  wras  the  rock  upon  which  his  ship 
wrecked  soul  was  cast.  There  he  could  repose  in  safety.  From 
its  heights  he  could  survey  the  world,  and  his  relation  to  it. 

Thus  was  his  life  spent.  In  his  old  age  he  had  to  appear  be 
fore  his  judges  to  answer  the  accusations  of  Impiety  and  Immo 
rality.  He  appeared,  and  wras  condemned. 

When  we  think  upon  the  character  of  this  great  man,  whose 
virtues,  luminous  in  the  distance,  and  surrounded  with  the  halo 
of  imperishable  glory,  so  impose  on  our  imaginations,  that  they 
seem  as  evident  as  they  were  exalted,  we  cannot  hear  of  his  trial 
and  condemnation  without  indignant  disgust  at  the  Athenians. 
But,  for  the  sake  of  humanity,  let  us  be  cautious  ere  we  decide. 
The  Athenians  were  volatile,  credulous,  and  cruel :  all  masses  of 
men  are ;  and  they,  perhaps,  were  eminently  so.  But  it  is  too 
much  to  suppose  that  they,  or  any  people,  would  have  condemned 
Socrates  had  he  appeared  to  them  what  he  appears  to  us.  Had 
a  tyrant  committed  such  a  deed,  the  people  would  have  avenged 
it.  But  Socrates  was  not  to  them  what  he  appears  to  us.  He 
was  offensive  to  them,  and  paid  the  penalty. 

A  great  man  cannot  be  understood  by  his  contemporaries. 
He  can  only  be  understood  by  his  peers  ;  and  his  peers  are  few. 
Posterity  exalts  a  great  man's  fame  by  producing  a  number  of 
great  men  to  appreciate  him.  The  great  man  is  also  necessarily 
a  reformer  in  some  shape  or  other.  Every  reformer  has  to  com 
bat  with  existing  prejudices  and  deep-rooted  passions.  To  cut 
his  own  path,  he  must  displace  the  rubbish  which  encumbers  it. 
He  is  therefore  in  opposition  to  his  fellow-men,  and  attacks  their 
interests.  Blinded  by  prejudice,  by  passion,  and  by  interest, 
men  cannot  see  the  excellence  of  him  they  oppose  ;  and  hence 
it  is  that,  as  Heine  so  admirably  says,  "  wherever  a  great  soul  gives 
utterance  to  his  thoughts,  there  also  is  Golgotha." 

Reformers  are  martyrs ;  and  Socrates  was  a  reformer.  Although, 
therefore,  his  condemnation  appears  to  us  very  unjust  and  very 


THE    LIFE    OF    SOCRATES.  1.39 

frightful,  to  the  Athenians  it  was  no  more  than  the  banishment  of 
Empedocles,  or  the  condemnation  of  Protagoras.  Pure  as  were 
his  intentions,  his  actions  and  opinions  were  offensive.  He  in 
curred  the  hatred  of  party-spirit ;  and  by  that  hatred  fell.  We 
recognize  the  purity  of  his  intentions  ;  he  does  not  oppose  us. 
We  can  pardon  Avhat  we  believe  to  be  his  errors,  because  those 
errors  wage  no  war  with  our  interests.  Very  differently  were 
the  Athenians  situated.  To  them  he  wras  offensive.  He  hated 
injustice  and  folly  of  all  kinds,  and  never  lost  an  occasion  of  ex 
posing  them.  A  man  who  undertakes  to  be  the  critic  of  his  age 
cannot  escape  the  critic's  penalty.  Socrates  censured  freely, 
openly.* 

But,  perhaps,  the  most  exasperating  part  of  his  behavior  was 
the  undisguised  contempt  which  lie  uniformly  expressed  for  the 
readiness  with  which  men  assumed  they  had  a  capacity  for  gov 
ernment.  Only  the  wise,  he  said,  were  fit  to  govern,  and  they 
were  few.  Government  is  a  science,  and  a  difficult  science.  It 
is  infinitely  more  difficult  to  govern  a  State  than  to  govern  the 
helm  of  a  ship.  Yet,  the  same  people  who  would  not  trust  them 
selves  in  a  ship  without  an  experienced  pilot,  not  only  trust  them 
selves  in  a  State  with  an  inexperienced  ruler,  but  also  endeavor 
to  become  rulers  themselves.  This  contempt  was  sufficient  to 
cause  his  condemnation ;  but  a  bertter  pretext  was  wanted,  and 
it  was  found  in  his  impiety.  His  defenders,  ancient  and  modern, 
have  declared  that  he  was  not  guilty  of  impiety  ;  and  Xenophon 
"  wonders  "  that  the  charge  could  have  been  credited  for  an  in 
stant.  But  we  believe  that  the  charge  was  as  much  merited  as 
in  the  case  of  the  other  philosophers  against  whom  it  was  made.| 
He  gave  new  interpretations  to  the  reigning  dogmas  ;  and  op- 


*  The  masterly  account  of  the  trial  of  Socrates,  given  by  Mr.  Grote,  should 
be  read  and  re-read  by  all  interested  in  this  subject. 

t  Sextos  Empirious,  speaking  of  the  Socratic  heresy,  calls  it  J>?  fxpav\i- 
^ovcavrd  Oeiov. — Adv.  Math.  ii.  p.  69.— Plato's  dialogues  of  The  Second  Alcibi- 
-ides  and  the  Euthypliro  are  evidence  enough  of  Socrates'  opposition  to  the 
Mythology  of  his  day. 


140  SOCRATES. 

posing  the  mythological  interpretations,  he  was  chargeable  with 
impiety. 

It  has  been  remarked  by  an  anonymous  writer,  that,  in  com 
plying  with  the  rites  of  his  country,  Socrates  avoided  her  super 
stitions.  The  rite  of  sacrifice,  so  simple  and  natural  that  it  har 
monizes  with  all  and  any  religious  truth,  required  to  be  guarded 
against  a  great  abuse,  and  against  this  he  warned  his  countrymen. 

"  When, "  says  Xenophon,  "  he  sacrificed,  he  feared  not  his  of 
fering  would  fail  of  acceptance  in  that  he  was  poor ;  but,  giving 
according  to  his  ability,  he  doubted  not  but,  in  the  sight  of  the 
Gods,  he  equalled  those  men  whose  gifts  and  sacrifices  overspread 
the  whole  altar  ;  for  Socrates  always  reckoned  upon  it  as  a  most 
indubitable  truth,  that  the  service  paid  the  Deity  by  the  pure 
and  pious  soul  was  the  most  grateful  service. 

"  When  he  prayed,  his  petition  was  only  this, — that  the  Gods 
would  give  to  him  those  things  that  were  good.  And  this  he  did, 
forasmuch  as  they  alone  knew  what  was  good  for  man.  But  he 
who  should  ask  for  gold  or  silver,  or  increase  of  dominion,  acted 
not,  in  his  opinion,  more  wisely  than  one  who  should  pray  for 
the  opportunity  to  fight,  or  game,  or  any  thing  of  the  like  na 
ture  ;  the  consequence  whereof  being  altogether  doubtful,  might 
turn,  for  aught  he  knew,  not  a  little  to  his  disadvantage."* 

It  was  more  difficult  for  tfie  philosopher  either  innocently  to 
comply  with,  or  safely  to  oppose,  that  part  of  the  popular  religion 
which  related  to  oracles  and  omens.  Socrates  appears  to  have 
done  what  was  possible,  and  what  therefore  was  best  ultimately, 
towards  correcting  this  great  evil. 

"He  likewise  asserted,  that  the  science  of  divination  was  ne 
cessary  for  all  such  as  would  govern  successfully,  either  cities  or 
private  families ;  for,  although  he  thought  every  one  might  choose 
his  own  way  of  life,  and  afterwards,  by  his  industry,  excel  there 
in  (whether  architecture,  mechanics,  agriculture,  superintending 
the  laborer,  managing  the  finances,  or  practising  the  art  of  war), 


THE    LIFE    OF    SOCRATES.  141 

yet  even  here,  the  Gods,  he  would  say,  thought  proper  to  reserve 
to  themselves,  in  all  these  things,  the  knowledge  of  that  part  of 
of  them  which  was  of  the  most  importance,  since  he  who  was 
the  most  careful  to  cultivate  his  field,  could  not  know  of  a  cer 
tainty  who  should  reap  the  fruit  of  it. 

"Socrates  therefore  esteemed  all  those  as  no  other  than  mad 
men  who,  excluding  the  Deity,  referred  the  success  of  their  de 
signs  to  nothing  higher  than  human  prudence.  He  likewise 
thought  those  not  much  better  who  had  recourse  to  divination 
on  every  occasion,  as  if  a  man  was  to  consult  the  oracle  whether 
he  should  give  the  reins  of  his  chariot  into  the  hands  of  one  ig 
norant  or  well-versed  in  the  art  of  driving,  or  place  at  the  helm 
of  his  ship  a  skilful  or  unskilful  pilot. 

"  He  also  thought  it  a  kind  of  impiety  to  importune  the  Gods 
with  our  inquiries  concerning  things  of  which  we  may  gain  the 
knowledge  by  number,  weight,  or  measure  ;  it  being,  as  it  seemed 
to  him,  incumbent  on  man  to  make  himself  acquainted  with  what 
ever  the  Gods  had  placed  within  his  power :  as  for  such  things 
as  were  beyond  his  comprehension,  for  these  he  ought  always  to 
apply  to  the  oracle  ;  the  Gods  being  ever  ready  to  communicate 
knowledge  to  those  whose  care  had  been  to  render  them  pro 
pitious."*  9 

The  trial  of  Socrates  belongs  rather  to  the  history  of  Greece 
than  to  the  history  of  Philosophy.  It  was  a  political  trial.  His 
bearing  during  the  whole  period  was  worthy  of  him  :  calm, 
grave,  and  touching ;  somewhat  haughty  perhaps,  but  with  the 
haughtiness  of  a  brave  soul  fighting  for  the  truth.  It  increased 
the  admiration  of  his  admirers,  and  exasperated  his  adversaries. 

Plato,  then  a  young  man,  was  present  at  the  trial,  and  has 
preserved  an  admirable  picture  of  it  in  his  Apology.  The  clos 
ing  speech,  made  by  Socrates,  after  sentence  of  death  had  been 
pronounced,  is  supposed  to  be  given  with  substantial  accuracy 
by  Plato.  We  extract  it : — 

*  Memor&bilia^  i.  1. 


142  SOCRATES. 

"  It  is  for  the  sake  of  but  a  short  span,  O  Athenians,  that  you 
have  incurred  the  imputation  from  those  who  wish  to  speak  evil  of 
the  city,  of  having  put  to  death  Socrates,  a  wise  man  (for  those 
who  are  inclined  to  reproach  you  will  say  that  I  am  wise,  even 
if  I  am  not).  Had  you  waited  a  short  time  the  thing  would  have 
happened  without  your  agency ;  for  you  see  my  years ;  I  am  far 
advanced  in  life,  and  near  to  death.  I  address  this  not  to  all  of 
you,  but  to  those  who  have  voted  for  the  capital  sentence,  and 
this,  too,  I  say  to  the  same  persons, — Perhaps  you  think  that  I 
have  been  condemned  for  want  of  skill  in  such  modes  of  working 
upon  your  minds,  as  I  might  have  employed  with  success,  if  I 
had  thought  it  right  to  employ  all  means  in  order  to  escape  from 
condemnation.  Far  from  it :  I  have  been  condemned,  and  not 
from  want  of  things  to  say,  but  from  want  of  daring  and  shame- 
lessness  ;  because  I  did  not  choose  to  say  to  you  the  things  which 
would  have  been  pleasautest  for  you  to  hear,  weeping,  and  lament 
ing,  and  saying  and  doing  other  things  which  I  affirm  to  be  un 
worthy  of  me  ;  as  you  are  accustomed  to  see  others  do.  But 
neither  did  I  then  think  fit  to  do  or  say  any  thing  unworthy  of  a 
freeman  ;  nor  do  I  now  repent  of  having  thus  defended  myself. 
I  would  far  rather  have  made  the  one  defence  and  die,  than  have 
made  the  other  and  live.  Neither  in  a  court  of  justice,  nor  in 
war,  ought  we  to  make  it  our  object  that,  whatever  happen,  we 
may  escape  death.  In  battle  it  is  often  evident  that  a  man  may 
save  his  life  by  throwing  away  his  arms  and  imploring  mercy  of 
his  pursuers  ;  and  in  all  other  dangers  there  are  many  contrivan 
ces  by  which  a  person  may  get  oft' with  life  if  he  dare  do  or  say 
every  thing.  The  difficulty,  O  Athenians,  is  not  to  escape  from 
death,  but  from  guilt ;  for  guilt  is  swifter  than  death,  and  runs 
faster.  And  now  I,  being  old  and  slow  of  foot,  have  been  over 
taken  by  Death,  the  slower  of  the  two ;  but  my  accusers,  who 
are  brisk  and  vehement,  by  wickedness,  the  swifter.  We  quit 
this  place  :  I  have  been  sentenced  by  you  to  death  ;  but  they, 
having  sentence  passed  upon  them,  by  Truth,  of  guilt  and  in 
justice.  I  submit  to  my  punishment,  and  they  to  theirs. 


THE    LIFE   OF    SOCRATES.  143 

"  But  I  wish,  O  men  who  have  condemned  me,  to  prophesy 
to  you  what  next  is  to  come.  I  say,  then,  that,  immediately 
after  my  death,  there  will  come  upon  you  a  far  severer  punish 
ment  than  that  which  you  have  inflicted  upon  me ;  for  you  have 
done  this,  thinking  by  it  to  escape  from  being  called  to  account 
for  your  lives.  But  I  affirm  that  the  very  reverse  will  happen  to 
you.  There  will  be  many  to  call  you  to  account  whom  I  have 
hitherto  restrained,  and  whom  you  saw  not;  and,  being  younger, 
they  will  give  you  more  annoyance,  and  you  will  be  still  more 
provoked ;  for,  if  you  think  by  putting  men  to  death  to  deter 
others  from  reproaching  you  with  living  amiss,  you  think  ill. 
That  mode  of  protecting  yourselves  is  neither  very  possible  nor 
very  noble  :  the  noblest  and  the  easiest  too  is  not  to  cut  off  other 
people,  but  so  to  order  yourselves  as  to  attain  the  greatest  ex 
cellence. 

"  Thus  much  I  beg  of  you  :  When  my  sons  grow  up,  punish 
them,  0  Athenians,  by  tormenting  them  as  I  tormented  you,  if 
they  shall  seem  to  study  riches,  or  any  other  ends,  in  preference 
to  virtue.  And,  if  they  are  thought  to  be  something,  being  real 
ly  nothing,  reproach  them,  as  I  have  reproached  you,  for  not  at 
tending  to  what  they  ought,  and  fancying  themselves  something 
when  they  are  good  for  nothing.  And,  if  you  do  this,  both  I 
and  my  sons  shall  have  received  what  is  just  at  your  hands. 

"  It  is  now  time  that  we  depart,  I  to  die,  you  to  live  j  but  which 
has  the  better  destiny  is  unknown  to  all  except  the  God" 

This  is  very  grand  and  impressive,  and  paints  the  character  of 
the  man.  Mayno  animo  et  vultu  carcerem  intravit,  says  Seneca. 
He  consoled  his  weeping  friends,  and  gently  upbraided  them  for 
their  complaints  at  the  injustice  of  the  sentence.  /.N"o  man  ever 
faced  death  with  greater  calmness ;  for  no  man  ever  welcomed  it 
with  greater  faith  as  a  new  birth  to  a  higher  state  of  being. 

He  would  have  been  executed  the  next  day,  but  it  happened 
that  the  next  day  was  the  first  of  the  festival  of  the  Delian  Theo- 
ria,  during  which  no  criminal  could  be  put  to  death.  This  festi 
val  lasted  thirty  days.  Socrates,  though  in  chains  and  awaiting 


144  SOCRATES. 

his  end,  spent  the  interval  in  cheerful  conversation  with  his 
friends,  and  in  composing  verses.  "During  this  time,"  says 
Xenophon,  "he  lived  before  the  eyes  of  all  his  friends  in  the 
same  manner  as  in  former  days ;  but  now  his  past  life  was  most 
admired  on  account  of  his  present  calmness  and  cheerfulness  of 
mind."  On  the  last  day  he  held  a  conversation  with  his  friends 
on  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  This  forms  the  subject  of  Plato's 
Phcedo.  The  arguments  in  that  dialogue  are  most  probably 
Plato's  own ;  and  it  is  supposed  that  the  dying  speech  of  Cyrus, 
in  Xenophon's  Cyropcedia,  is  a  closer  copy  of  the  opinions  of 
Socrates. 

Phsedo,  describing  the  impression  produced  on  him  by  the 
sight  of  Socrates  on  this  final  day,  says : — "  I  did  not  feel  the 
pity  which  it  was  natural  I  should  feel  at  the  death  of  a  friend : 
on  the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  me  perfectly  happy  as  I  gazed  on 
him  and  listened  to  him :  so  calm  and  dignified  was  his  bearing. 
And  I  thought  that  he  only  left  this  world  under  the  protection 
of  the  Gods,  who  destined  him  to  a  more  than  mortal  felicity  in 
the  next."  He  then  details  the  conversation  on  the  immortality 
of  the  soul ;  after  which,  he  narrates  the  close  of  that  glorious 
life  in  language  worthy  of  it.  Even  in  the  English  version  of 
Taylor  the  beauty  of  the  narrative  stands  manifestly  out. 

"When  he  had  thus  spoke,  he  rose,  and  went  into  a  room, 
that  he  might  wash  himself,  and  Crito  followed  him  :  but  he 
ordered  us  to  wait  for  him.  We  waited,  therefore,  accordingly, 
discoursing  over,  and  reviewing  among  ourselves,  what  had  been 
said,  and  sometimes  speaking  about  his  death,  how  great  a  ca 
lamity  it  would  be  to  us;  and  sincerely  thinking  that  we,  like 
those  who  are  deprived  of  their  father,  should  pass  the  rest  of  our 
life  in  the  condition  of  orphans.  But,  when  he  had  washed  him 
self,  his  sons  were  brought  to  him  (for  he  had  two  little  ones,  and 
one  considerably  advanced  in  age),  and  the  women  belonging  to 
his  family  likewise  came  in  to  him  :  but  when  he  had  spoken  to 
them  before  Crito,  and  had  left  them  such  injunctions  as  he 
thought  proper,  he  ordered  the  boys  and  women  to  depart ;  and 


THE   LIFE    OF   SOCRATES.  145 

he  himself  returned  to  us.  Aud  it  was  now  near  the  setting  of 
the  sun  :  for  he  had  been  absent  for  a  long  time  in  the  bathing- 
room.  But,  when  he  came  in  from  washing,  he  sat  down,  and 
did  not  speak  much  afterwards ;  for,  then,  the  servant  of  the 
eleven  magistrates  came  in,  and,  standing  near  him,  I  do  not  per 
ceive  that  in  you,  Socrates  (says  he),  which  I  have  taken  notice 
of  in  others ;  I  mean  that  they  are  angry  with  me,  and  curse 
me,  when,  being  compelled  by  the  magistrates,  I  announce  to 
them  that  they  must  drink  the  poison.  But,  on  the  contrary,  I 
have  found  you  at  the  present  time  to  be  the  most  generous, 
mild,  and  best  of  all  the  men  who  ever  came  into  this  place  :  and, 
therefore,  I  am  now  well  convinced  that  you  are  not  angry  with 
me,  but  with  the  authors  of  your  present  condition.  You  know 
those  whom  I  allude  to.  Now,  therefore  (for  you  know  what  I 
came  to  tell  you),  farewell !  and  endeavor  to  bear  this  necessity 
as  easily  as  possible.  And  at  the  same  time,  bursting  into  tears, 
and  turning  himself  away,  he  departed. 

"  Then  Crito  gave  the  sign  to  the  boy  that  stood  near  him. 
And  the  boy  departing,  and,  having  staid  for  some  time,  came, 
bringing  with  him  the  person  that  was  to  administer  the  poison, 
and  who  brought  it  properly  prepared  in  a  cup.  But,  Socrates, 
beholding  the  man, — It's  well,  my  friend  (says  he)  ;  but  what  is 
proper  to  do  with  it?  for  you  are  knowing  in  these  affairs.  You 
have  nothing  else  to  do  (says  he)  but  when  you  have  drunk  it  to 
walk  about,  till  a  heaviness  takes  place  in  your  legs,  and  after 
wards  lie  down  :  this  is  the  manner  in  which  you  should  act. 
And,  at  the  same  time,  he  extended  the  cup  to  Socrates.  But 
Socrates  received  it  from  him,  and,  indeed,  with  great  cheerful 
ness  ;  neither  trembling  nor  suffering  any  alteration  for  the 
worse  in  his  color  or  countenance,  but,  as  he  was  accustomed  to 
do,  beholding  the  man  with  a  bull-like  aspect.  What  say  you 
(says  he)  respecting  this  potion  ?  Is  it  lawful  to  make  a  libation 
of  it,  or  not  ?  We  only  bruise  (says  he),  Socrates,  as  much  as 
we  think  sufficient  for  the  purpose.  I  understand  you  (says  he) ; 
but  it  is  certainly  both  lawful  and  proper  to  pray  to  the  Gods, 

7 


146  SOCRATES. 

that  my  departure  from  hence  thither  may  be  attended  with 
prosperous  fortune ;  which  I  entreat  them  to  grant  may  be  the 
case.  And,  at  the  same  time  ending  his  discourse,  he  drank  the 
poison  with  exceeding  facility  and  alacrity.  And  thus  far,  indeed, 
the  greater  part  of  us  were  tolerably  well  able  to  refrain  from 
weeping;  but,  when  we  saw  him  drinking,  and  that  he  had  drunk 
it,  we  could  no  longer  restrain  our  tears.  But  from  me,  indeed, 
notwithstanding  the  violence  which  I  employed  in  checking 
them,  they  flowed  abundantly  ;  so  that,  covering  myself  with  my 
mantle,  I  deplored  my  misfortune.  I  did  not,  indeed,  weep  for 
him,  but  for  my  own  fortune,  considering  what  an  associate  I 
should  be  deprived  of.  But,  Crito,  who  was  not  able  to  restrain 
his  tears,  was  compelled  to  rise  before  me.  And  Apollodorus, 
who,  during  the  whole  time  prior  to  this,  had  not  ceased  from 
weeping,  then  wept  aloud,  and  with  great  bitterness ;  so  that  he 
infected  all  who  were  present  except  Socrates.  But  Socrates, 
upon  seeing  this,  exclaimed :  What  are  you  doing,  excellent 
men  ?  For,  indeed,  I  principally  sent  away  the  women,  lest  they 
should  produce  a  disturbance  of  this  kind.  For  I  have  heard  it 
is  proper  to  die  attended  with  propitious  ornens.  Be  quiet,  there 
fore,  and  summon  fortitude  to  your  assistance.  But  when  we 
heard  this  we  blushed,  and  restrained  our  tears.  But  he,  when 
he  found,  during  his  walking,  that  his  legs  felt  heavy,  and  had 
told  us  so,  laid  himself  down  in  a  supine  position.  For  the  man 
had  ordered  him  to  do  so.  And,  at  the  same  time,  he  who  gave 
hirn  the  poison,  touching  him  at  intervals,  considered  his  feet 
and  legs.  And,  after  he  had  vehemently  pressed  his  foot,  he 
asked  him  if  he  felt  it.  But  Socrates  answered  he  did  not.  And, 
after  this,  he  again  pressed  his  thighs  :  and,  thus  ascending  with 
his  hand,  he  showed  us  that  he  was  cold  and  stiff.  And  Soc 
rates  also  touched  himself,  and  said  that  when  the  poison  reached 
his  heart  he  should  then  leave  us.  But  now  his  lower  belly  was 
almost  cold;  when,  uncovering  himself  (for  he  was  covered)  he 
said  (which  were  his  last  words),  Crito,  we  owe  a  cock  to  ^Escu- 
lapius.  Discharge  this  debt,  therefore,  for  me,  and  don't  neglect 


THE   LIFE    OF   SOCRATES.  14:7 

it.  It  shall  be  done  (says  Crito) ;  but  consider  whether  you  have 
any  other  commands.  To  this  inquiry  of  Crito  he  made  no  re 
ply  ;  but  shortly  after  moved  himself,  and  the  man  covered  him. 
And  Socrates  fixed  his  eyes.  Which,  when  Crito  perceived,  he 
closed  his  mouth  and  eyes.  This  was  the  end  of  our  associate  ; 
a  man,  as  it  appears  to  me,  the  best  of  those  whom  we  were  ac 
quainted  with  at  that  time ;  and,  besides  this,  the  most  prudent 
and  just." 

Thus  perished  this  great  and  good  man,  a  martyr  to  Phi 
losophy.  His  character  we  have  endeavored  to  represent  fairly, 
though  briefly.  Let  us  now  add  the  summing-up  of  Xen- 
ophon,  who  loved  him  tenderly,  and  expressed  his  love  grace 
fully  : 

"  As  to  myself,  knowing  him  of  a  truth  to  be  such  a  man  as  I 
have  described  ;  so  pious  towards  the  Gods,  as  never  to  undertake 
any  thing  without  first  consulting  them  ;  so  just  towards  men,  as 
never  to  do  any  injury,  even  the  very  slightest,  to  any  one,  whilst 
many  and  great  were  the  benefits  he  conferred  on  all  with  whom 
he  had  any  dealings  ;  so  temperate  and  chaste,  as  not  to  indulge 
any  appetite  or  inclination  at  the  expense  of  whatever  was  modest 
and  becoming;  so  prudent,  as  never  to  err  in  judging  of  good 
and  evil,  nor  wanting  the  assistance  of  others  to  discriminate 
rightly  concerning  them ;  so  able  to  discourse  upon,  and  define 
with  the  greatest  accuracy,  not  only  those  points  of  which  we 
have  been  speaking,  but  likewise  every  other,  and  looking  as  it 
were  into  the  minds  of  men,  discover  the  very  moment  for  rep 
rehending  vice,  or  stimulating  to  the  love  of  virtue :  experien 
cing,  as  I  have  done,  all  these  excellencies  in  Socrates,  I  can 
never  cease  considering  him  as  the  most  virtuous  and  the  most 

G 

happy  of  all  mankind.  But,  if  there  is  any  one  who  is  disposed 
to  think  otherwise,  let  him  go  and  compare  Socrates  with  any 
other,  and  afterwards  let  him  determine."* 

After  ages  have  cherished  the  memory  of  his  virtues  and  his 

*  Memorabilia.^  iv.  7. 


148  SOCKATES. 

fate  ;  but  without  profiting  much  by  his  example,  and  without 
learning  tolerance  from  his  story. 

§  II.  PHILOSOPHY  OF  SOCRATES. 

Opinions  vary  so  considerably  respecting  the  philosophy  of 
Socrates,  and  materials  whereby  they  can  be  tested  are  so  scanty, 
that  any  attempt  at  exposition  must  be  made  with  diffidence. 
The  historian  has  to  rely  solely  on  his  critical  skill  ;  and  on  such 
grounds,  he  will  not,  if  prudent,  be  very  confident. 

Amongst  the  scattered  materials  from  which  an  opinion  may 
be  formed  are,  1st.  The  very  general  tradition  of  Socrates  having 
produced  a  revolution  in  thought  ;  in  consequence  of  which  he 
is  by  all  regarded  as  the  initiator  of  a  new  epoch  ;  and  by  some 
as  the  founder  of  Greek  Philosophy,  properly  so  called.  2dly. 
The  express  testimony  of  Aristotle,  that  he  first  made  use  of  defi 
nitions  and  proceeded  by  induction*  These  two  positions 
involve  each  other.  If  Socrates  produced  a  revolution  in  phi 
losophy,  he  could  only  have  done  so  by  a  new  Method.  That 
Method  we  see  exhibited  in  the  phrase  of  Aristotle,  but  it  is 
there  only  exhibited  in  a  brief  concentrated  manner,  and  requires 
to  be  elucidated. 

Assuredly  we  may  echo  Mr.  Grote's  statement,  that  it  requires 
at  the  present  day  some  mental  effort  to  see  any  thing  important 
in  the  invention  of  notions  so  familiar  as  those  of  Genus  —  Defi 
nition  —  Individual  things  as  comprehended  in  a  genus  —  what 
each  thing  is,  and  to  what  genus  it  belongs,  etc.  Nevertheless 
four  centuries  before  Christ  these  terms  denoted  mental  processes 
which  few,  if  an\y  but  Socrates,  had  a  distinct  recognition  of,  in 
the  form  of  analytical  consciousness.  "The  ideas  of  men  — 

*  "There  are  two  things  of  which  Socrates  must  justly  be  regarded  as  the 
author,  the  Inductive  Reasoning  and  Abstract  Definitions,'"  —  TOVS 


Kai  TO  bpi&vdai  Ka06\ovf  (Arist.  Metaph.  xiii.  4.)  Xenophon  has  sev 
eral  indications  of  the  inductive  method  :  lie  also  says  that  Socrates  always 
proceeded  from  propositions  best  known  to  those  less  known,  which  is  a 
definition  of  Induction. 


PHILOSOPHY    OF   SOCRATES.  149 

speakers  as  well  as  hearers,  the  productive  minds  as  well  as  the 
recipient  multitude — were  associated  together  in  groups,  favora 
ble  rather  to  emotional  results,  or  to  poetical,  rhetorical  narra 
tive,  and  descriptive  effect,  than  to  methodical  generalization,  to 
scientific  conception,  or  to  proof  either  inductive  or  deductive. 
That  reflex  act  of  attention  which  enables  men  to  understand, 
compare,  and  rectify  their  own  mental  process  was  only  just  be 
ginning.  It  was  a  recent  novelty  on  the  part  of  the  rhetorical 
teachers  to  analyze  the  component  parts  of  a  public  harangue, 
and  to  propound  some  precepts  for  making  men  tolerable  speak 
ers.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  any  one  before  Socrates  ever 
used  the  words  Genus  and  Species  (originally  meaning  Family 
and  Form),  in  the  philosophical  sense  now  exclusively  appro 
priated  to  them.  Not  one  of  those  many  names  (called  by  logi 
cians  names  of  the  second  intention)  which  imply  distinct  atten 
tion  to  various  parts  of  the  logical  process,  and  enable  us  to 
criticize  it  in  detail,  then  existed.  All  of  them  grew  out  of  the 
schools  of  Plato,  Aristotle,  and  the  subsequent  philosophers,  so 
that  we  can  thus  trace  them  in  their  beginning  to  the  common 
root  and  father,  Socrates."*  The  novelty  was  very  distasteful 
to  all  who  were  not  seduced  by  it.  Men  resent  being  forced  to 
rigor  of  speech  and  thought ;  they  call  you  "  pedantic"  if  you 
insist  on  their  using  terms  with  definite  meanings ;  they  prefer 
the  loose  flowing  language  of  indefinite  association  which  picks 
up  in  its  course  a  variety  of  heterogeneous  meanings ;  and  are 
irritated  at  any  speaker  who  points  out  to  them  the  inaccuracy 
of  their  phrases.  Aristotle  says  it  was  thought  bad  taste  in  his 
day — TJ  ctxpj/SoXoyj'a  juuxpotfpStfsV :  and  Timon  the  Sillograph  sar 
castically  calls  Socrates  one  of  the  axpj/3o'Xo^oi,  as  if  precision  of 
language  were  a  vice. 

"  The  notions  of  Genus,  subordinate  genera,  and  individuals 
as  comprehended  under  them,  were  at  that  time  newly  brought 
into  clear  consciousness  in  the  human  mind.  The  profusion  of 

*  Grote,  viii.  578. 


150  SOCRATES. 

logical  distribution  employed  in  some  of  the  dialogues  of 
seems  partly  traceable  to  his  wish  to  familiarize  his  hearers  with 
that  which  was  then  a  novelty,  as  well  as  to  enlarge  its  develop 
ment  and  diversify  its  mode  of  application."  "  We  must  always 
consider  the  Method  of  Socrates  in  conjunction  with  the  subjects 
to  which  he  applied  it.  ...  On  such  questions  as  these — What 
is  justice  ? — What  is  piety  ? — What  is  democracy  ? — What  is 
law  ? — every  man  fancied  that  he  could  give  a  confident  opinion, 
and  even  wondered  that  any  other  person  should  feel  a  diffi 
culty.  When  Socrates,  professing  ignorance,  put  any  such  ques 
tion,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  an  answer,  given  off 
hand  and  with  very  little  reflection.  The  answer  purported  to 
be  the  explanation  or  definition  of  a  term,  familiar  indeed,  but  of 
wide  and'comprehensive  import, — given  by  one  who  had  never 
before  tried  to  render  to  himself  an  account  of  what  it  meant. 
Having  got  this  answer,  Socrates  put  fresh  questions,  applying  it 
to  specific  cases,  to  which  the  respondent  was  compelled  to  give 
answers  inconsistent  with  the  first;  showing  that  the  definition 
was  either  too  narrow  or  too  wide,  or  defective  in  some  essen 
tial  condition.  The  respondent  then  amended  his  answer ;  but 
this  was  a  prelude  to  other  questions,  which  could  only  be 
answered  in  ways  inconsistent  with  the  amendment;  and  the 
respondent,  after  many  attempts  to  disentangle  himself,  Avas 
obliged  to  plead  guilty  to  the  inconsistencies,  with  an  admission 
that  he  could  make  no  satisfactory  answer  to  the  original  query 
which  at  first  had  appeared  so  easy  and  familiar.  .  .  The  discus 
sion  first  raised  by  Socrates  turns  upon  the  meaning  of  some 
large  generic  term.  The  queries  whereby  he  follows  it  up  bring 
the  answer  given  into  collision  with  various  particulars  which  it 
ought  not  to  comprehend,  or  with  others  which  it  ought  to  com 
prehend,  but  does  not.  The  inconsistencies  into  which  the 
hearer  is  betrayed  in  his  various  answers  proclaim  to  him  the 
fact  that  he  has  not  yet  acquired  any  thing  like  a  clear  and  full 
conception  of  the  common  attribute  which  binds  together  the 
various  particulars  embraced  under  some  term  which  is  ever 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    SOCRATES.  151 

upon  his  lips.  He  is  thus  put  upon  the  train  of  thought  which 
leads  to  a  correction  of  the  generalization,  and  lights  him  on  to 
that  which  Plato  calls  seeing  the  One  in  the  Many,  and  the 
Many  in  the  One."* 

Because  Socrates  employed  Induction,  it  is  frequently  stated 
that  he  anticipated  Bacon's  Inductive  Method.  Passages  can 
certainly  be  quoted  in  which  Socrates  and  Bacon  hold  very  simi 
lar  language  ;  and  in  some  respects  their  reform  was  analogous  ; 
but  the  differences  are  more  profound  than  the  resemblances. 
The  aim  and  purpose  of  Socrates  was  confessedly  to  withdraw 
the  mind  from  contemplating  the  phenomena  of  nature,  and  to 
fix  it  on  its  own  phenomena :  truth  was  to  be  sought  by  looking 
inwards,  not  by  looking  outwards.  The  aim  and  purpose  of  Ba 
con's  philosophy  was  the  reverse  of  this ;  he  exhorted  men  to  the 
observation  and  interpretation  of  nature,  and  energetically  de 
nounced  all  attempts  to  discover  the  operations  of  mind.  If 
Socrates  pushed  too  far  this  contempt  of  physics,  Bacon  pushed 
too  far  his  contempt  of  psychology :  the  exaggeration  was,  in 
each  case,  produced  by  the  absurdities  of  contemporaries. 

Not  more  decided  is  the  contrast  between  their  conceptions 
of  Induction.  With  Socrates  it  was  little  more  than  Inductio 
per  enumerationem  simplicem,  or  "reasoning  by  analogy," — the 
mere  collection  of  particular  facts, — a  process  which  it  was  Ba 
con's  peculiar  merit  to  have  utterly  destroyed.  The  whole  force 
of  the  Novum  Organum  may  be  said  to  be  directed  against  this 
erroneous  method.  The  triviality  of  the  method  may  indeed  be 
seen  in  the  quibbles  to  which  it  furnishes  support  in  Plato ;  it 
may  be  seen  also  in  the  argument  used  by  Aristippus  to  justify 
his  living  with  Lai's  the  courtesan.  "Do  you  think,  Diogenes, 
that  there  is  any  thing  odd  in  inhabiting  a  house  that  oth 
ers  have  inhabited  before  you? — No.  Or  sailing  in  a  ship  in 
which  many  men  have  sailed  before  you  ? — No.  By  parity  of 
reasoning,  then,  there  is  nothing  odd  in  living  with  a  woman 

*  Grote,  viii.  583-8. 


152  SOCRATES. 

whom  many  men  have  lived  with  before."  This  quibble  is 
a  legitimate  Socratic  induction ;  and  it  was  made  by  a  pupil  of 
Socrates.  It  is  only  a  parody  of  the  arguments  by  which  it  was 
proved  that  to  inflict  injustice  is  more  painful  than  to  suffer  it ; 
one  of  the  many  startling  dogmas  attributed  to  Socrates.  Who 
ever  supposes  this  Induction  to  be  the  Baconian  Induction  (which 
is  an  interrogation  of  nature),  has  missed  the  sense  of  the  Novum 
Organum.  Indeed,  to  suppose  that  such  a  conception  as  Ba 
con's  could  have  been  originated  so  early  in  the  history  of 
science,  is  radically  to  mistake  the  course  of  human  development. 
Mr.  Grote  has  quoted  several  striking  passages  from  Bacon,* 
to  show  the  parallel  between  the  spirit  and  purpose  of  the  Ba 
conian  and  Socratic  Methods ;  and  probably  most  readers  will 
agree  with  him  when  he  says  that  Socrates  "  sought  to  test  the 
fundamental  notions  and  generalizations  respecting  man  and 
society  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  Bacon  approached  those  of 
Physics :  he  suspected  the  unconscious  process  of  the  growing 
intellect,  and  desired  to  revise  it,  by  comparison  with  particulars, 
and  from  particulars,  too,  the  most  clear  and  certain,  but  which, 
from  being  of  vulgar  occurrence,  were  least  attended  to.  And 
that  which  Socrates  described  in  his  language  as  the  '  conceit  of 
knowledge  without  the  reality'  is  identical  with  what  Bacon 
designates  as  the  primary  notions — the  puerile  observations- — the 
aberrations  of  the  intellect  left  to  itself."  But  in  spite  of  this  re 
semblance  the  difference  is  profound,  and  it  rises  into  unmistaka 
ble  distinctness  when  we  consider  the  results  in  the  philosophies 
of  the  two ;  the  Socratic  Method  is  seen  developed  in  Plato  and 
Aristotle,  the  Baconian  in  Newton  and  Faraday ;  and  if,  as  was 
stated  in  our  Introduction,  the  adoption  of  the  Method  of  gradu 
ated  Verification  was  not  owing  to  a  previous  circumscription  of 
the  aims  of  Philosophy,  but,  on  the  contrary,  if  this  Method  ne 
cessarily 'led  to  the  circumscription,  it  follows  that  systems  so 
metaphysical  as  those  which  came  out  of  the  Socratic  teaching 

*  Vol.  viii.  p.  G12. 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    SOCRATES.  153 

must  have  been  the  produce  of  a  very  different  Method  from 
that  which  led  to  modern  science. 

Conceit  of  knowledge,  without  the  reality,  was  by  Socrates 
perpetually  stigmatized  as  the  most  disgraceful  of  mental  defects,* 
and  the  whole  effort  of  his  terrible  questioning — the  "  cross-ex 
amining  Elenchus" — wras  to  make  men  aware  of  this  conceit,  to 
prove  to  them  that  their  knowledge  was  a  sham,  as  Carlyle  would 
call  it.  Instead  of  the  loose,  heterogeneous  conceptions  with 
which  men  deceived  themselves  and  others  into  the  belief  of 
knowledge,  he  insisted  on  the  substitution  of  rigorous  and  dis 
tinct  conceptions. 

How  could  this  be  done  but  by  definitions  ?  To  know  the 
essence  of  a  thing  you  must  consider  it  as  distinct  from  every 
thing  else,  you  must  define  it ;  by  defining  it  you  demarcate  it 
from  what  it  is  not,  and  so  present  the  thing  before  you  in  its 
essence. 

It  was  a  fundamental  conviction  with  him  that  it  is  impossible 
to  start  from  one  true  thought,  and  be  entangled  in  any  contra 
diction  with  another  true  thought ;  knowledge  derived  from  any 
one  point,  and  obtained  by  correct  combination,  cannot  contra 
dict  that  which  has  been  obtained  from  any  other  point.  He 
believed  that  Reason  was  pregnant  with  Truths,  and  only  needed 
an  accoucheur.  An  accoucheur  he  announced  himself;  his  main 
instruments  were  Definitions.  By  Definition  he  enabled  tho 
thinker  to  separate  the  particular  thought  he  wished  to  express, 
from  the  myriad  of  other  thoughts  which  clouded  it.  By  Defi 
nition  he  enabled  a  man  to  contemplate  the  essence  of  a  thing, 
because  he  admitted  nothing  which  was  not  essential  into  the 
definition. 

The  radical  mistake  here  is  the  confusion  between  Definitions 
of  Names  and  Definitions  of  Things.  In  the  Definition  of  a  Name 
nothing  more  is  applied  than  the  meaning  intended  to  be  affixed; 


Plato,  Apologia,  p.  29  (p.  114,  ed.  Bekker) :   Kal  TOVTO  n-iSf  OVK 
)  fi  ixovet&taTOS,  h  r°v  aicadai  dtievai  ft  OIIK  olfiev  ; 


154  SOCRATES. 

in  the  definition  of  a  Thing  there  is,  over  and  above  this  intended 
meaning,  the  assertion  of  a  corresponding  fact  which  the  definition 
describes. 

We  have  more  than  once  commented  on  the  natural  tendency 
of  the  early  thinkers  to  mistake  distinctions  in  words  for  distinc 
tions  in  things.  We  have  now  to  signalize,  in  the  history  of 
speculation,  the  reduction  of  this  tendency  to  a  systematic  for 
mula.  Names  henceforth  have  the  force  of  things.*  A  correct 
Definition  is  held  to  be  a  true  description  of  the  Thing  per  se : 
the  explanation  of  terms  as  equivalent  to  the  explanation  of  things, 
and  the  exhibition  of  the  nature  of  any  thing  in  a  definition  as 
equivalent  to  our  actual  analysis  of  it  in  a  laboratory — are  the 
central  errors  of  the  Platonic  and  Aristotelian  philosophy.  These 
errors  continue  to  flourish  in  all  the  metaphysical  systems  of  the 
present  day. 

When  stated  in  a  naked  manner,  the  absurdity  of  this  Method 
is  apparent ;  but  it  may  be  so  disguised  as  to  look  profoundly 
philosophic.  Hence  the  frequent  use  of  such  locutions  as  that 
certain  properties  are  "  involved  in  the  idea"  of  certain  things ; 
as  if  being  involved  in  the  idea,  i.  e.  being  included  in  the  defini 
tion,  necessarily  implied  a  correspondent  objective  existence  ;  as  if 
human  conceptions  were  the  faithful  copies  of  external  things. 
The  conceptions  of  men  widely  differ ;  consequently  different 
properties  are  "  involved"  in  these  different  conceptions ;  but  all 
cannot  be  true,  and  the  question  arises,  Which  conception  is 
true  ?  To  answer  this  question  by  any  thing  like  a  definition,  is 
to  argue  in  a  circle.  A  principle  of  certitude  must  be  sought. 
That  principle,  however,  is  still  to  seek. 

The  influence  of  the  theory  of  definitions  will  be  more  dis 
tinctly  discernible  as  we  proceed.  It  is  the  one  grand  character 
istic  of  the  Method  Socrates  originated.  In  it  must  be  sought 
the  explanation  of  his  views  of  Philosophy. 

He  has  been  almost  taunted  with  never  having  promulgated 

*  See  Plato's  Cratylus, 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    SOCKATES.  155 

any  system  of  his  own.  ills  rank  in  the  history  of  philosophy 
has  been  questioned,  and  has  been  supposed  to  be  only  that  of  a 
moralist.  A  passage  of  Aristotle  has  been  quoted  as  decisive  on 
this  point:  "The  speculations  of  Socrates  were  only  concerning 
Ethics,  and  not  at  all  concerning  Nature  in  general"  (r%  oX-xj^ 
yiKfsug).  But  this  is  not  oil  the  passage:  it  continues  thus: 
"In  these  speculations  he  sought  the  Abstract  (TO  xadoXou),  and 
was  the  first  who  thought  of  giving  definitions."  Now  in  this 
latter  portion  we  believe  there  is  contained  a  hint  of  something 
more  than  the  mere  moralist — a-  hint  of  the  metaphysician.  On 
turning  to  another  part  of  Aristotle's  treatise*  we  accordingly 
find  this  hint  more  clearly  brought  out ;  we  find  an  express  indi 
cation  of  the  metaphysician.  The  passage  is  as  follows  :  "  Socrates 
concerned  himself  with  ethical  virtues,  and  he  first  sought  the 
abstract  definitions  of  these.  Before  him  Democritus  had  only 
concerned  himself  with  a  part  of  Physics,  and  defined  but  the 
Hot  and  the  Cold.  But  Socrates,  reasonably  (suXoywj),  sought 
the  Essence  of  Things,  i.  e.  sought  what  exists." 

Moreover,  in  another  passage  (lib.  iii.  c.  2)  Aristotle  reproaches 
Aristippus  for  having  rejected  science,  and  concerned  himself 
solely  with  morals.  This  is  surely  negative  evidence  that  Soc 
rates  was  not  to  be  blamed  for  the  same  opinion  ;  otherwise  he 
would  have  been  also  mentioned. 

It  was  a  natural  mistake  to  suppose  that  Socrates  was  only  a 
Moralist,  seeing  that  his  principal  topics  were  always  Man  and 
Society,  and  never  Physical  speculations,  which  he  deemed  beyond 
the  reach  of  human  intellect.  If,  however,  Socrates  had  been 
merely  a  Moralist,  his  place  in  the  history  of  Philosophy  would 
not  have  been  what  it  is  ;  no  Plato,  no  Aristotle  would  have 
called  him  master.  He  made  a  new  epoch.  The  previous  phi 
losophers  had  directed  their  attention  to  external  Nature,  endeav 
oring  to  explain  its  phenomena  ;  he  gave  up  all  such  speculations, 
and  directed  his  attention  solely  to  the  nature  of  Knowledge. 

*  MetapJi.  xiii.  4. 


156  SOCRATES. 

Men  speculated  at  random.  They  sought  truth,  but  they  only 
built  hypotheses,  because  they  had  not  previously  ascertained  the 
limits  and  conditions  of  inquiry.  They  attempted  to  form  sciences 
before  having  settled  the  conditions  of  Science.  It  was  the  pe 
culiar  merit  of  Socrates  to  have  proposed,  as  the  grand  question 
of  philosophy,  the  nature  and  conditions  of  Science. 

The  reader  may  now  begin  to  appreciate  the  importance  of 
Definitions  in  the  Socratic  Method,  and  may  understand  why 
Socrates  did  not  himself  invent  systems,  but  only  a  Method.  He 
likened  himself  to  a  Midwife,  who,  though  unable  to  bring  forth 
children  herself,  assisted  women  in  their  labors.  He  believed 
that  in  each  man  lay  the  germs  of  wisdom.  He  believed  that 
no  science  could  be  taught ;  only  drawn  out.  To  borrow  the 
ideas  of  another  was  not  to  learn ;  to  guide  one's  self  by  the 
judgment  of  another  was  blindness.  The  philosophers,  who  pre 
tended  to  teach  every  thing,  could  teach  nothing ;  and  their  ig 
norance  was  manifest  in  the  very  pretension.  Each  man  must 
conquer  truth  for  himself,  by  rigid  struggle  with  himself.  He, 
Socrates,  was  willing  to  assist  any  man  when  in  the  pains  of 
labor :  he  could  do  no  more. 

Such  being  the  Method,  we  cannot  wonder  at  his  having  at 
tached  himself  to  Ethical  rather  than  to  Physical  speculations. 
His  philosophy  was  a  realization  of  the  inscription  at  Delphos — 
Know  Thyself.  It  was  in  himself  that  he  found  the  ground  of 
certitude  which  was  to  protect  him  against  skepticism.  It  was 
therefore  moral  science  which  he  prized  above  all  others.  In 
deed,  we  have  great  reason  to  believe  that  his  energetic  de 
nouncement  of  Physical  speculations,  as  reported  by  Xenophon, 
was  the  natural,  though  exaggerated,  conclusion  to  which  he  had 
been  hurried  by  a  consideration  of  the  manifold  absurdities  into 
which  they  drew  the  mind,  and  the  skepticism  which  they  in 
duced.  There  could  be  nothing  but  uncertainty  on  such  subjects. 

"  I  have  not  leisure  for  such  things,"  he  is  made  to  say  by  Plato, 
"  and  I  will  tell  you  the  reason  :  I  am  not  yet  able,  according  to 
the  Delphic  Inscription,  to  Know  myself ;  and  it  appears  to  me 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    SOCRATES.  157 

very  ridiculous,  while  ignorant  of  myself,  to  inquire  into  what  I 
am  not  concerned  in."*  That  he  did,  however,  at  one  period 
occupy  himself  with  them  is  clear  from  other  sources,  and  is  a 
point  in  the  comedy  of  the  Clouds,  where  he  is  represented  "  air- 
treading  and  speculating  about  the  sun,"  —  dspo/3arw  xaf  tfspjqppovw 
TOV  ?]Xjov,  —  and  his  disciples  seeking  things  hidden  underground 
—  rot  xara  7%.  This  has  led  many  to  suppose  that  Aristophanes 
knew  nothing  whatever  of  Socrates,  but  only  took  him  as  an 
available  comic  type  of  the  Sophists,  —  a  supposition  to  which  there 
are  several  objections.  Firstly,  it  is  not  usual  in  satirists  to  select 
for  their  butt  a  person  of  whom  they  know  nothing.  Secondly, 
Socrates,  of  all  Athenians,  was  the  most  notorious,  and  most  easily 
to  be  acquainted  with  in  a  general  way.  Thirdly,  he  could  not 
be  a  type  of  the  Sophists,  in  as  far  as  related  to  physical  specula 
tions,  since  we  well  know  the  Sophists  scouted  physics.  Fourth 
ly,  he  did  occupy  himself  with  Physics  early  in  his  career  ;  and 
probably  did  so  when  Aristophanes  satirized  him,  although  in 
after-life  he  regarded  such  speculations  as  trivial. 

It  was  quite  possible  that  Aristophanes  should  have  made  no 
such  nice  discrimination  between  the  dialectical  quibbling  of  Soc 
rates  and  that  of  the  Sophists,  as  would  prevent  him  from  repre 
senting  Socrates  teaching  "the  art  to  make  the  worse  appear  the 
better  reason  ;"f  but  it  is  scarcely  credible  that  he  should  have 
made  so  flagrant  a  mistake  as  to  accuse  Socrates  of  busying  him 
self  with  Physics,  when  everyone  of  the  audience  could  answer  that 
Socrates  never  troubled  himself  at  all  about  it.  In  our  day  Proud- 
hon  and  Louis  Blanc  are  often  classed  together  as  teachers  of  the 
same  Socialist  doctrines  ;  or  Strauss  and  Feuerbach  as  teachers 
of  the  same  theological  doctrines  ;  but  no  satirist  would  laugh  at 
Louis  Blanc  for  his  astronomical  speculations,  or  at  Strauss  for  his 
devotion  to  the  Microscope.  The  Aristophanic  evidence,  there 
fore,  seems  perfectly  admissible  as  respects  the  physical  specula 
tions  of  Socrates  at  or  about  the  time  when  the  Clouds  was  pro- 


*  Phcedrus,  p.  8.  t  Wule*,  v.  112-15. 


158  SOCKATES. 

duced.  If  they  were  afterwards  relinquished,  it  was  because  they 
led  to  no  certainty. 

That  Philosophy,  and  not  Morals,  was  really  the  aim  of  Socra 
tes,  is  clear  from  his  subordination  of  all  morals  to  science.  He 
considers  Virtue  to  be  identical  with  Knowledge.*  Only  the  wise 
man,  said  he,  can  be  brave,  just,  or  temperate.  Vice  of  every 
kind  is  Ignorance ;  and  involuntary,  because  ignorant.  If  a  man 
is  cowardly,  it  is  because  he  does  not  rightly  appreciate  the  im 
portance  of  life  and  death.  He  thinks  death  an  evil,  and  flees  it. 
If  he  were  wise,  he  would  know  that  death  is  a  good  thing,  or, 
at  the  worst,  an  indifferent  one,  and  therefore  would  not  shun  it. 
If  a  man  is  intemperate,  it  is  because  he  is  unable  to  estimate  the 
relative  value  of  present  pleasure  and  future  pain.  Ignorance  mis 
leads  him.  It  is  the  nature  of  man  to  seek  good  and  shun  evil : 
he  would  never  seek  evil,  knowing  it  to  be  such  ;  if  he  seeks  it, 
he  mistakes  it  for  good  :  if  he  is  intemperate,  it  is  because  he  is 
unwise. 

Method  was.  his  all-in-all.  Nor  is  it  impossible  to  trace  the 
origin  of  this  conception  in  his  mind.  The  Pythian  oracle  had 
declared  him  to  be  the  wisest  of  men.  The  assertion  greatly 
puzzled  him,  for  he  found  on  deep  introspection  that  he  knew 
nothing ;  all  his  fancied  knowledge  was  that  conceit  of  knowl 
edge  without  the  reality,  which  he  saw  puffing  up  other  men  ; 
and  his  sole  distinction  was  that  he  knew  the  depth  of  his  own 

*  Qpovfjatis  wero  tivat  irdaag  T«J  apcrdf. — Aristot.  Ethic.  NicomacTl,  vi.  13. 
Plato,  in  the  Jtfeno,  makes  him  maintain  that  Virtue  cannot  be  Science,  can 
not  be  taught.  But  this  is  not  Socratic.  "  Whether  Virtue  can  be  taught 
was  a  question  much  agitated  in  the  time  of  Socrates,  who  appears  to  give 
contradictory  decisions  on  different  occasions.  Comp.  Plat.  Meno,  pp.  96,  98, 
with  Protagoras,  p.  361,  in  the  latter  of  which  passages  he  censures  his  own 
inconsistency,  in  first  denying  that  Virtue  can  be  taught,  and  then  maintain 
ing  that  Virtue  is  Science.  Ascending  to  Xenophon,  Mem.  i.  2,  i9,  Socrates 
seems  to  have  adopted  the  common-sense  view  that  Virtue  is  partly  matter 
of  teaching,  partly  of  practice  (ao-K^rdv),  and  partly  of  natural  disposition.  But 
Xenophon  was  unconscious  of  the  logical  difficulty  of  reconciling  this  with 
that  identification  of  Virtue  with  Science  or  Wisdom  which  he  elsewhere  dis 
tinctly  attributes  to  his  master." — Thompson's  Note  to  Butter's  History  of 
Philosophy,  \.  374. 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    SOCRATES.  159 

ignorance,  while  they  believed  themselves  to  be  knowing  ;  and  it 
was  because  he  knew  this  that  he  understood  the  meaning  of  the 
oracle.  Thus  much  we  have  on  his  explicit  authority.  If  we 
now  consider  that  his  title  of  the  "  wisest "  was  owing  to  the 
profound  consciousness  of  the  unreality  of  all  which  hitherto  had 
passed  for  wisdom  (the  proof  of  which  was  exposed  by  means  of  his 
cross-examining  Elenchus),  we  shall  be  able  to  understand  how  it 
was  he  carne  to  make  his  Method  in  and  for  itself  the  great  aim  of 
Philosophy,  and  how  instead  of  desiring  to  make  converts  to  any 
system,  or  to  gain  acceptance  for  any  special  theories  on  physics 
or  ethics,  he  always  and  everywhere  desired  to  awaken  the  cross- 
examining  spirit  in  the  minds  of  his  hearers,  so  that  each  in  his 
own  turn  might  awaken  it  in  others,  because  in  this,  and  this 
alone,  consisted  real  Wisdom.  Previous  philosophies  had  shown 
the  futility  of  speculation ;  certitude  was  nowhere  to  be  had  ;  all 
such  theories  were  but  the  conceit  of  knowledge.  The  Method 
which  he  taught  was  that  by  which  alone  man  could  become 
wiser  and  better. 

It  is  clear  that  the  novelty  of  the  Method  so  completely  fasci 
nated  him,  as  to  prevent  his  detecting  the  confusion  he  made  be 
tween  end  and  means.  And  the  reader  may  understand  how 
such  a  confusion  might  very  naturally  have  maintained  itself,  if 
he  reflects  how  very  analogous  is  the  pursuit  of  purely  mathe 
matical  science  by  hundreds  who  care  nothing  for  the  applica 
tions  of  mathematics.  Lying  at  the  base  of  all  physical  science 
is  a  great  and  complex  science  of  Quantity, — the  one  indispen 
sable  Instrument  by  means  of  which  Knowledge  becomes  Science 
(for  Science  is  only  quantitative  knowledge)  ;  but  so  vast  and  so 
complex  is  this  Instrument,  that  numerous  intellects  are  constant 
ly  engaged  in  studying  and  perfecting  it,  never  once  withdrawn 
from  it  by  any  attempt  at  application.  In  a  similar  way  Socrates, 
and  for  the  most  part  Plato  likewise,  cared  exclusively  for  Method  ; 
perfecting  the  Instrument  of  search,  rather  than  seeking. 

Although  Socrates  was  not  the  first  to  teach  the  doctrine  of 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  he  was  the  first  to  give  it  a  philo- 


160  SOCRATES. 

sophical  basis.  Nor  can  \ve  read  without  admiration  the  argu 
ments  by  which  he  anticipated  writers  on  Natural  Theology,  by 
pointing  out  the  evidences  of  a  beneficent  Providence.  Listen 
to  Xenophon : 

"  I  will  now  relate  the  manner  in  which  I  once  heard  Socra 
tes  discoursing  with  Aristodemus,  surnamed  the  Little,  concern 
ing  the  Deity ;  for  observing  that  he  neither  prayed  nor  sacrificed 
to  the  Gods,  but,  on  the  contrary,  ridiculed  and  laughed  at  those 
who  did,  he  said  to  him : 

"  Tell  me,  Aristodemus,  is  there  any  man  whom  you  admire 
on  account  of  his  merit?  .  Aristodemus  having  answered  'Many,' 
— Name  some  of  them,  I  pray  you.  I  admire,  said  Aristodemus, 
Homer  for  his  Epic  poetry,  Melanippides  for  his  dithyrambics, 
Sophocles  for  tragedy,  Polycletus  for  statuary,  and  Zeuxis  for 
painting. 

"  But  which  seems  to  you  most  worthy  of  admiration,  Aristo 
demus  ? — the  artist  who  forms  images  void  of  motion  and  in 
telligence,  or  one  who  hath  the  skill  to  produce  animals  that  are 
endued  not  only  with  activity,  but  understanding  ? — The  latter, 
there  can  be  no  doubt,  replied  Aristodemus,  provided  the  produc 
tion  was  not  the  effect  of  chance,  but  of  wisdom  and  contrivance. — 
But  since  there  are  many  things,  some  of  which  we  can  easily 
see  the  use  of,  while  we  cannot  say  of  others  to  what  purpose 
they  were  produced,  which  of  these,  Aristodemus,  do  you  suppose 
the  work  of  wisdom  ? — It  should  seem  the  most  reasonable  to 
affirm  it  of  those  whose  fitness  and  utility  are  so  evidently  ap 
parent. 

"But  it  is  evidently  apparent  that  He  who  at  the  beginning- 
made  man,  endued  him  with  senses  because  they  were  good  for 
him ;  eyes,  wherewith  to  behold  whatever  was  visible ;  and  ears, 
to  hear  whatever  was  to  be  heard  ;  for  say,  Aristodemus,  to  what 
purpose  should  odors  be  prepared,  if  the  sense  of  smelling  had 
been  denied  ?  or  why  the  distinctions  of  bitter  and  sweet,  of  savory 
and  unsavory,  unless  a  palate  had  been  likewise  given,  convenient 
ly  placed,  to  arbitrate  between  them  and  declare  the  difference  ? 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    SOCRATES.  161 

Is  not  that  Providence,  Aristodemus,  in  a  most  eminent  manner 
conspicuous,  which,  because  the  eye  of  man  is  so  delicate  in  its 
contexture,  hath  therefore  prepared  eyelids  like  doors,  whereby 
to  secure  it,  which  extend  of  themselves  whenever  it  is  needful, 
and  again  close  when  sleep  approaches  ?  Are  not  these  eyelids 
provided  as  it  were  with  a  fence  on  the  edge  of  them,  to  keep  off 
the  wind  and  guard  the  eye  ?  Even  the  eyebrow  itself  is  not 
without  its  office,  but,  as  a  penthouse,  is  prepared  to  turn  off  the 
sweat,  which,  falling  from  the  forehead,  might  enter  and  annoy 
that  no  less  tender  than  astonishing  part  of  us.  Is  it  not  to  be 
admired  that  the  ears  should  take  in  sounds  of  every  sort,  and  yet 
are  not  too  much  filled  by  them  ?  That  the  fore-teeth  of  the  an 
imal  should  be  formed  in  such  a  manner  as  is  evidently  best 
suited  for  the  cutting  of  its  food,  as  those  on  the  side  for  grinding 
it  to  pieces  ?  That  the  mouth,  through  which  this  food  is  con 
veyed,  should  be  placed  so  near  the  nose  and  eyes  as  to  prevent 
the  passing  unnoticed  whatever  is  unfit  for  nourishment ;  while 
Nature,  on  the  contrary,  hath  set  at  a  distance  and  concealed 
from  the  senses  all  that  might  disgust  or  any  way  offend  them  ? 
And  canst  thou  still  doubt,  Aristodemus,  whether  a  disposition 
of  parts  like  this  should  be  the  work  of  chance,  or  of  wisdom  and 
contrivance  ? — I  have  no  longer  any  doubt,  replied  Aristodemus ; 
and,  indeed,  the  more  I  consider  it,  the  more  evident  it  appears 
to  me  that  man  must  be  the  masterpiece  of  some  great  artificer ; 
carrying  along  with  it  infinite  marks  of  the  love  and  favor  of  Him 
who  hath  thus  formed  it. 

"  And  what  thinkest  thou,  Aristodemus,  of  that  desire  in  the 
individual  which  leads  to  the  continuance  of  the  species  ?  Of 
that  tenderness  and  affection  in  the  female  towards  her  young, 
so  necessary  for  its  preservation  ?  Of  that  unremitted  love  of 
life,  and  dread  of  dissolution,  which  take  such  strong  possession 
of  us  from  the  moment  we  begin  to  be  ?  I  think  of  them,  ans 
wered  Aristodemus,  as  so  many  regular  operations  of  the  same 
great  and  wise  Artist^  deliberately  determining  to  preserve  what 
he  hath  made. 


162  SOCRATES. 

"But,  farther  (unless  thou  desirest  to  ask  me  questions),  seeing, 
Aristodemus,  thou  thyself  art  conscious  of  reason  and  intelligence, 
supposest  thou  there  is  no  intelligence  elsewhere  ?  Thou  know- 
est  thy  body  to  be  a  small  part  of  that  wide  extended  earth 
which  thou  everywhere  beholdest :  the  moisture  contained  in  it, 
thou  also  knowest  to  be  a  small  portion  of  that  mighty  mass  of 
waters,  whereof  seas  themselves  are  but  a  part,  while  the  rest  of 
the  elements  contribute  out  of  their  abundance  to  thy  formation. 
It  is  the  soul  then  alone,  that  intellectual  part  of  us,  which  is 
come  to  thee  by  some  lucky  chance,  from  I  know  not  where. 
If  so  be  there  is  indeed  no  intelligence  elsewhere:  and  we  must 
be  forced  to  confess,  that  this  stupendous  universe,  with  all  the 
various  bodies  contained  therein, — equally  amazing,  whether  we 
consider  their  magnitude  or  number,  whatever  their  use,  what 
ever  their  order, — all  have  been  produced,  not  by  intelligence, 
but  by  chance ! — It  is  with  difficulty  that  I  can  suppose  other 
wise,  returned  Aristodemus;  for  I  behold  none  of  those  Gods 
whom  you  speak  of  as  making  and  governing  all  things ;  where 
as  I  see  the  artists  when  at  their  work  here  among  us. — Neither 
yet  seest  thou  thy  soul,  Aristodemus,  which,  however  most  as 
suredly  governs  thy  body  ;  although  it  may  well  seem,  by  thy 
manner  of  talking,  that  it  is  chance,  and  not  reason,  which  gov 
erns  thce. 

"  I  do  not  despise  the  Gods,  said  Aristodemus :  on  the  con 
trary,  I  conceive  so  highly  of  their  excellence,  as  to  suppose  they 
stand  in  no  need  either  of  me  or  of  my  services. — Thou  mistakes! 
the  matter,  Aristodemus ;  the  greater  magnificence  they  have 
shown  in  their  care  of  thee,  so  much  the  more  honor  and  service 
thou  owest  them. — Be  assured,  said  Aristodemus,  if  I  once  could 
be  persuaded  the  Gods  take  care  of  man,  I  should  want  no  moni 
tor  to  remind  me  of  my  duty. — And  canst  thou  doubt,  Aristo 
demus,  if  the  Gods  take  care  of  man  ?  Hath  not  the  glorious 
privilege  of  walking  upright  been  alone  bestowed  on  him,  whereby 
he  may  with  the  better  advantage  survey  what  is  around  him, 
contemplate  with  more  ease  those  splendid  objects  which  are 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    SOCRATES.  163 

above,  and  avoid  the  numerous  ills  and  inconveniences  which 
would  otherwise  befall  him  ?  Other  animals  indeed  they  have 
provided  with  feet,  by  which  they  may  remove  from  one  place 
to  another;  but  to  man  they  have  also  given  hands,  with  which 
he  can  form  many  things  for  his  use,  and  make  himself  happier 
than  creatures  of  any  other  kind.  A  tongue  hath  been  bestowed 
on  every  other  animal ;  but  what  animal,  except  man,  hath  the 
power  of  forming  words  with  it,  whereby  to  explain  his  thoughts, 
and  make  them  intelligible  to  others? 

"  But  it  is  not  with  respect  to  the  body  alone  that  the  Gods 
have  shown  themselves  thus  bountiful  to  man.  Their  most  ex 
cellent  gift  is  that  soul  they  have  infused  into  him,  which  so  far 
surpasses  what  is  elsewhere  to  be  found ;  for  by  what  animal, 
except  man,  is  even  the  existence  of  those  Gods  discovered,  who 
have  produced  and  still  uphold,  in  such  regular  order,  this  beau 
tiful  and  stupendous  frame  of  the  universe  ?  What  other  species 
of  creature  is  to  be  found  that  can  serve,  that  can  adore  them  ? 
What  other  animal  is  able,  like  man,  to  provide  against  the  as 
saults  of  heat  and  cold,  of  thirst  and  hunger  ?  that  can  lay  up 
remedies  for  the  time  of  sickness,  and  improve  the  strength  nature 
has  given  by  a  well-proportioned  exercise  ?  that  can  receive  like 
him  information  or  instruction ;  or  so  happily  keep  in  memory 
what  he  hath  seen,  and  heard,  and  learnt  ?  These  things  being 
so,  who  seeth  not  that  man  is,  as  it  wrere,  a  God  in  the  midst  of 
this  visible  creation  ?  so  far  doth  he  surpass,  whether  in  the  en 
dowments  of  soul  or  body,  all  animals  whatsoever  that  have  been 
produced  therein ;  for  if  the  body  of  the  ox  had  been  joined  to 
the  mind  of  man,  the  acuteness  of  the  latter  would  have  stood 
him  in  small  stead,  while  unable  to  execute  the  well-designed 
plan ;  nor  would  the  human  form  have  been  of  more  use  to  the 
brute,  so  long  as  it  remained  destitute  of  understanding !  But  in 
thee,  Aristodemus,  hath  been  joined  to  a  wonderful  soul  a  body 
no  less  wonderful ;  and  sayest  thou,  after  this,  the  Gods  take  no 
thought  for  me?  What  wouldst  thou  then  more  to  convince 
thee  of  their  care  ? 


164  SOCRATES. 

"  I  would  they  should  send  and  inform  me,  said  Aristodemus, 
what  things  I  ought  or  ought  not  to  do,  in  like  manner  as  thou 
sayest  they  frequently  do  to  thee. — And  what  then,  Aristodemus  ? 
supposest  thou,  that  when  the  Gods  give  out  some  oracle  to  all 
the  Athenians  they  mean  it  not  for  thee  ?  If  by  their  prodigies 
they  declare  aloud  to  all  Greece,  to  all  mankind,  the  things 
which  shall  befall  them,  are  they  dumb  to  thee  alone  ?  And  art 
thou  the  only  person  whom  they  have  placed  beyond  their  care  ? 
Believest  thou  they  would  have  wrought  into  the  mind  of  man  a 
persuasion  of  their  being  able  to  make  him  happy  or  miserable, 
if  so  be  they  had  no  such  power  ?  or  would  not  even  man  him 
self,  long  ere  this,  have  seen  through  the  gross  delusion  ?  How 
is  it,  Aristodemus,  thou  rememberest  or  remarkest  not,  that  the 
kingdoms  and  commonwealths  most  renowned  as  well  for  their 
wisdom  as  antiquity,  are  those  whose  piety  and  devotion  hath 
been  the  most  observable  ?  and  that  even  man  himself  is  never 
so  well  disposed  to  serve  the  Deity  as  in  that  part  of  life  when 
reason  bears  the  greatest  sway,  and  his  judgment  is  supposed  in 
its  full  strength  and  maturity  ?  Consider,  my  Aristodemus,  that 
the  soul  which  resides  in  thy  body  can  govern  it  at  pleasure ; 
wrhy  then  may  not  the  soul  of  the  universe,  which  pervades  and 
animates  every  part  of  it,  govern  it  in  like  manner  ?  If  thine 
eye  hath  the  power  to'  take  in  many  objects,  and  these  placed  at 
no  small  distance  from  it,  marvel  not  if  the  eye  of  the  Deity  can 
at  one  glance  comprehend  the  whole.  And  as  thou  perceivest  it 
not  beyond  thy  ability  to  extend  thy  care,  at  the  same  time,  to 
the  concerns  of  Athens^  Egypt,  Sicily,  why  thinkest  thou,  my 
Aristodemus,  that  the  Providence  of  God  may  not  easily  extend 
itself  through  the  whole  universe  ? 

"  As  therefore,  among  men,  we  make  best  trial  of  the  affection 
and  gratitude  of  our  neighbor  by  showing  him  kindness,  and  dis 
cover  his  wisdom  by  consulting  him  in  his-  distress,  do  thou  in 
like  manner  behave  towards  the  Gods ;  and  if  thou  wouldst  ex 
perience  what  thei?  wisdom  and  what  their  love,  render  thyself 
deserving  the  communication  of  some  of  those  divine  secrets 


PHILOSOPHY    OF   SOCKATES.  165 

which  may  not  be  penetrated  by  man,  and  are  imparted  to  those 
alone  who  consult,  who  adore,  who  obey  the  Deity.  Then  shalt 
thou,  my  Aristodemus,  understand  there  is  a  Being  whose  eye 
pierceth  throughout  all  nature,  and  whose  ear  is  open  to  every 
sound ;  extended  to  all  places,  extending  through  all  time ;  and 
whose  bounty  and  care  can  know  no  other  bound  than  those 
fixed  by  his  own  creation. 

"  By  this  discourse,  and  others  of  the  like  nature,  Socrates 
taught  his  friends  that  they  were  not  only  to  forbear  whatever 
was  impious,  unjust,  or  unbecoming  before  man ;  but  even  when 
alone  they  ought  to  have  a  regard  to  all  their  actions,  since  the 
Gods  have  their  eyes  continually  upon  us,  and  none  of  our  de 
signs  can  be  concealed  from  them."* 

To  this  passage  we  must  add  another  equally  deserving  of  at 
tention  : 

"  Even  among  all  those  deities  who  so  liberally  bestow  on  us 
good  things,  not  one  of  them  maketh  himself  an  object  of  our 
sight.  And  He  who  raised  this  whole  universe,  and  still  upholds 
the  mighty  frame,  who  perfected  every  part  of  it  in  beauty  and 
in  goodness,  suffering  none  of  these  parts  to  decay  through  age, 
but  renewing  them  daily  with  unfading  vigor,  whereby  they  are 
able  to  execute  whatever  he  ordains  with  that  readiness  and  pre 
cision  which  surpass  man's  imagination ;  even  He,  the  supreme 
God,  who  performeth  all  these  wonders,  still  holds  himself  invisi 
ble,  and  it  is  only  in  his  works  that  we  are  capable  of  admiring 
him.  For  consider,  my  Euthydemus,  the  sun,  which  seemeth  as 
it  were  set  forth  to  the  view  of  all  men,  yet  suffereth  not  itself 
to  be  too  curiously  examined ;  punishing  those  with  blindness 
who  too  rashly  venture  so  to  do ;  and  those  ministers  of  the  Gods, 
whom  they  employ  to  execute  their  bidding,  remain  to  us  invisi 
ble  ;  for  though  the  thunderbolt  is  shot  from  on  high,  and  break- 
eth  in  pieces  whatever  it  fmdeth  in  its  way,  yet  no  one  seeth  it 
when  it  falls,  when  it  strikes,  or  when  it  retires ;  neither  are  the 

*  Memorabilia^  i.  4. 


166  SOCRATES. 

winds  discoverable  to  our  sight,  though  we  plainly  behold  the 
ravages  they  everywhere  make,  and  with  ease  perceive  what 
time  they  are  rising.  And  if  there  be  any  thing  in  man,  my 
Euthydemus,  partaking  of  the  divine  nature,  it  must  surely  be 
the  soul  which  governs  and  directs  him  ;  yet  no  one  considers 
this  as  an  object  of  his  sight.  Learn,  therefore,  not  to  despise 
those  things  which  you  cannot  see ;  judge  of  the  greatness  of 
the  power  by  the  effects  which  are  produced,  and  reverence  the 
Deity."* 

In  conclusion,  we  must  notice  the  vexed  question  of  the  Demon 
of  Socrates.  The  notion  most  generally  current  is  that  he  be 
lieved  himself  accompanied  by  a  Daemon,  or  Good  Angel,  who 
whispered  counsels  in  his  ear,  and  forewarned  him  on  critical  oc 
casions.  This  has  been  adduced  as  evidence  of  his  "  supersti 
tion  ;"  and  one  writer — to  be  sure  he  is  a  Frenchman — makes  it 
a  text  to  prove  that  Socrates  was  mad.f  Olympiodorus  said  that 
the  Daemon  only  meant  Conscience,  an  explanation  which,  while 
it  effaces  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  the  conception,  is  at  the 
same  time  totally  inapplicable  to  those  cases  when  the  "  Daemonic 
voice"  spoke  to  Socrates  concerning  the  affairs  of  his  friends,  as 
we  read  in  Plato's  Thcages.  By  other  writers  the  Dasmon  has 
been  considered  as  purely  allegorical. 

The  first  point  necessary  to  be  distinctly  understood  is,  that 
Socrates  believed  in  no  special  Da3mon  at  all ;  and  to  translate 
Plutarch's  treatise  into  De  Gcnio  Socratis,  and  hence  to  speak  of 
le  demon  de  Socrate,  is  gross  misconception.  Nowhere  does 
Socrates,  in  Plato  or  Xenophon,  speak  of  a  genius  or  demon,  but 
always  of  a  daemonic  something  (ro  dou^wiw,  Oajaoviov  <n),  or  of  a 
sign,  a  voice,  a  divine  sign,  a  divine  voice ,|  The  second  point 


*  Memorabilia,  iv.  3. 

t  Lelut,  Du  Demon  de  Socrate,  1S3C.  A  new  edition  of  this  work  appeared 
in  1856,  and  excited  a  "  sensation." 

I  See  passages  cited  in  Zeller,  ii.  28  (1846).  Mr.  Thompson  in  his  note  to 
Butler,  i.  375,  says  : — "  Clemens  Alexandrinus  in  one  passage  conjectures  that 
the  Satp6viov  of  Socrates  may  have  been  a  familiar  genius.  Strom,  v.  p.  592. 
This  conjecture  becomes  an  assertion  in  Lactantius  (lust.  D.  ii.  14)  who  con- 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    SOCRATES.  167 

necessary  to  be  remembered  is,  that  this  "  divine  voice"  was  only 
an  occasional  manifestation,  and  exercised  only  a  restraining  in 
fluence.  On  the  great  critical  occasions  of  his  life,  if  the  voice 
warned  him  against  any  step  he  was  about  to  take,  he  unhesi 
tatingly  obeyed  it ;  if  the  voice  was  unheard,  he  concluded  that 
his  proposed  step  was  agreeable  to  the  Gods.  Thus,  when  on 
his  trial,  he  refused  to  prepare  any  defence,  because  when  he  was 
about  to  begin  it  the  voice  restrained  him,  whereupon  he  resign 
ed  himself  to  the  trial,  convinced  that  if  it  were  the  pleasure  of 
the  Gods  that  he  should  die,  he  ought  in  no  wise  to  struggle — if 
it  were  their  pleasure  that  he  should  be  set  free,  defence  on  his 
part  was  needless. 

This  is  his  own  explicit  statement ;  and  surely  in  a  Christian 
country  abounding  in  examples  of  persons  believing  in  direct 
intimations  from  above,  there  can  be  little  difficulty  in  cred 
iting  such  a  statement.  .Socrates  was  a  profoundly  religious 
man ;  he  was  moreover,  as  we  learn  from  Aristotle,  a  man  of 
that  bilious  melancholic  temperament*  which  has  in  all  times 
been  observed  in  persons  of  unusual  religious  fervor,  such  as  is 
implied  in  those  momentary  exaltations  of  the  mind  which  are 
mistaken  for  divine  visits ;  and  when  the  rush  of  thought  came 
upon  him  with  strange  warning  voices,  he  believed  it  was  the 
Gods  who  spoke  directly  to  him.  Unless  we  conceive  Socrates 
as  a  profoundly  religious  man,  we  shall  misconceive  the  whole 
spirit  of  his  life  and  teaching.  In  many  respects  he  was  a  fanatic, 
but  only  in  the  noble  sense  of  the  word  :  a  man,  like  Carlyle, 
intolerant,  vehement,  "  possessed"  by  his  ideas,  but,  like  Carlyle, 
preserved  from  all  the  worst  consequences  of  such  intolerance 
and  possession  by  an  immense  humor  and  a  tender  heart.  His 

verts  the  dc&monium  into  dcemon.  Apuleius,  it  is  true,  had  already  led  the 
way  to  this  error  in  his  treatise  De  Deo  Socratis.  It  is  adopted  without 
scruple  by  Augustine  and  other  Christian  writers  ;  and,  as  might  have  been 
expected,  by  Ficinus  and  the  earlier  moderns,  as  Stanley  and  Dacier,  in 
whose  writings  the  damoni-um  appears  full-fledged  as  "  an  attendant  spirit" 
or  "  good  angel." 

*  Qvaiv  /uAayx0^"";1')  Aristotle,  Problem.  80. 


168  SOCRATES. 

Saturnine  melancholy  was  relieved  by  laughter,  which  softened 
and  humanized  a  spirit  otherwise  not  less  vehement  than  that  of 
a  Dominic  or  a  Calvin.  ( Thus  strengthened  and  thus  softened, 
Socrates  stands  out  as  the  grandest  figure  in  the  world's  Pan 
theon  :  the  bravest,  truest,  simplest,  wisest  of  mankind. 


FIFTH  EPOCH. 

PARTIAL  ADOPTION  OF  THE  SOCRATIC  METHOD. 


§  I.  THE  MEGARIC  SCHOOL. — EUCLID. 

"  SEVERAL  philosophers,"  says  Cicero,  "  drew  from  the  con 
versations  of  Socrates  very  different  results ;  and,  according  as 
each  adopted  views  which  harmonized  with  his  own,  they  in 
their  turn  became  heads  of  philosophical  schools  all  differing 
amongst  each  other."  It  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  a  philo 
sophical  Method,  to  adapt  itself  indiscriminately  to  all  sorts  of 
systems.  A  scientific  Method  is  confined  to  one  :  if  various  and 
opposing  systems  spring  from  it,  they  spring  from  an  erroneous 
or  imperfect  application  of  it. 

We  must  not  be  surprised  therefore  to  find  many  contradict 
ory  systems  claiming  the  parentage  of  Socrates.  But  we  must 
be  on  our  guard  against  supposing  that  this  adaptation  to  various 
systems  is  a  proof  of  the  excellence  of  the  Socratic  Method.  It 
is  only  a  proof  of  its  vagueness.  It  may  be  accepted  as  a  sign 
of  the  great  influence  exercised  upon  succeeding  philosophers ; 
it  is  no  sign  that  the  influence  was  in  the  right  direction. 

As  we  said,  Socrates  had  no  school;  he  taught  no  system. 
He  exhibited  a  Method ;  and  this  Method  his  hearers  severally 
applied.  Around  him  were  men  of  various  ages,  various  tempera 
ments,  and  various  opinions.  He  discoursed  with  each  upon  his 
own  subject:  with  Xenophon  on  politics;  with  Theages  or 
Thesetetus  on  science  ;  with  Antisthenes  on  morals  ;  with  Ion  on 
poetry.  Some  were  convinced  by  him ;  others  were  merely  re 
futed.  The  difference  between  the  two  is  great.  Of  those  who 

8 


170  THE    MEGARIC    SCHOOL. 

were  convinced,  the  so-called  Socratic  Schools  were  formed; 
those  who  were  only  refuted  became  his  enemies.  But,  of 
the  former,  some  were  naturally  only  more  or  less  convinced ; 
that  is,  were  willing  to  adopt  his  opinions  on  some  subjects,  but 
remained  stubborn  on  others.  These  are  the  imperfect  Socratists. 
Amongst  the  latter  was  Euclid  of  Megara. 

EUCLID,  who  must  not  be  confounded  with  the  great  Mathe 
matician,  was  born  at  Megara ;  date  probably  between  450  and 
440  B.  c.  He  had  early  imbibed  a  great  love  of  philosophy,  and 
had  diligently  studied  the  writings  of  Parmcnides  and  the  other 
Eleatics.  From  Zeno  he  acquired  great  facility  in  dialectics ; 
and  this  continued  to  be  his  chief  excellence  even,  after  his  ac 
quaintance  with  Socrates,  who  reproved  him  for  it  as  sophistical. 

His  delight  in  listening  to  Socrates  was  so  great  that  he  fre 
quently  exposed  his  life  to  do  so.  A  decree  was  passed,  in  con 
sequence  of  the  enmity  existing  between  Athens  and  Megara, 
that  any  inhabitant  of  Megara  found  in  Athens  should  forfeit  his 
life  ;  Euclid,  however,  braved  the  penalty.  lie  frequently  came 
to  Athens  at  night,  disguised  as  a  female.  The  distance  was 
twenty  miles.  At  the  end  of  his  journey  he  was  recompensed 
by  the  fascinating  conversation  of  Socrates ;  and  he  returned  to 
meditate  on  the  results  of  their  arguments. 

Brucker's  supposition  that  a  rupture  was  caused  between  them 
in  consequence  of  Socrates  having  reproved  Euclid's  disputatious 
tendency,  is  wholly  without  foundation,  and  seems  contradicted 
by  the  notorious  fact  that  when,  on  the  death  of  Socrates,  Plato 
and  the  majority  of  the  disciples  retired  to  Megara,  in  fear  of 
some  popular  outbreak  of  the  Athenians,  who  were  in  a  state  of 
rage  against  all  the  philosopher's  friends,  Euclid  received  them 
well.  Bound  by  the  same  ties  of  friendship  towards  the  illustri 
ous  martyr,  and  sharing  some  of  his  opinions,  the  Socratists  made 
some  stay  in  Megara.  Differences  however  arose,  as  they  will 
amongst  all  communities  of  the  kind.  Plato  and  some  others 
returned  to  Athens,  as  soon  as  the  state  of  the  public  mind  ad 
mitted  their  doing  so  with  safety.  The  rest  remained  with  Euclid. 


EUCLID.  171 

"The  character  of  the  Megaric  doctrine,"  says  Hitter,  "so  far 
as  it  is  possible  to  fix  it  in  the  defective  state  of  our  information, 
may  be  briefly  given  as  the  Eleatic  view  enlarged  by  the  So 
cratic  conviction  of  the  moral  obligation,  and  the  laws  of  scientific 
thought." 

We  confess  our  inability  to  comprehend  this.  In  Euclid  we 
have  no  hint  of  "  moral  obligation  ;"  in  Socrates  we  fail  to  de 
tect  the  "  laws  of  scientific  thought."  If  by  the  former  Hitter 
means,  that  Euclid  gave  an  Ethical  and  Socratic  meaning  to  the 
Eleatic  doctrine,  he  is  correct ;  if  by  the  latter  he  means,  that 
Euclid  adopted  the  Socratic  Method  of  Induction  and  Definitions, 
he  is  hopelessly  wrong;  and,  if  this  is  not  what  he  means  by 
"  laws  of  scientific  thought,"  we  are  at  a  loss  to  understand  him. 

Euclid  agreed  with  the  Eleatics  in  maintaining  that  there  was 
but  One  unalterable  Being,  to  be  known  by  Reason  only.  This 
One  Being  was  not  simply  The  One  ;  neither  was  it  simply  In 
telligence  ;  it  was  The  Good.  This  One  Being  received  various 
names  according  to  its  various  aspects :  thus  it  was  sometimes 
Wisdom  (cpp6vri<fis) ;  sometimes  God  (6s6s) ;  at  others  Reason 
(vous)  ;  and  so  forth.  This  One  Good  (sv  TO  a^a$ov)  is  the  only 
Being  that  really  exists  j  every  thing  opposed  to  it  has  nothing 
but  a  phenomenal,  transitory  existence. 

Such  is  the  outline  of  his  doctrine,  as  presented  by  Diogenes 
Laertius.  In  it  the  reader  will  have  no  difficulty  in  detecting 
both  the  Eleatic  and  Socratic  elements.  The  conception  of  God 
as  TO  dyafiov — the  Good — is  purely  Socratic ;  and  the  denial  of 
any  existence  to  things  opposed  to  the  Good  is  an  explanation  of 
that  passage  in  Plato's  Republic,  where  Socrates  declares  God 
not  to  be  the  author  of  all  things,  but  only  of  such  as  are  good.* 

The  Megaric  doctrine  is  therefore  the  Eleatic  doctrine,  with 
an  Ethical  tendency  borrowed  from  Socrates,  who  taught  that 
virtue  was  not  any  partial  cultivation  of  the  human  mind,  but 
constitutes  the  true  and  entire  essence  of  the  rational  man,  and 

*  M>;  irdvTuv  airtov  rbv  Qevv,  aXAu  rCJv   ayaQ&v. — ii.   100. 


172  THE   MEGARIC    SCHOOL. 

indeed  of  the  whole  universe.  The  identification  of  Virtue  with 
Wisdom  is  also  Socratic. 

With  respect  to  Euclid's  dialectics  there  is  one  point,  often 
alluded  to,  variously  interpreted,  and  which  is  in  direct  opposi 
tion  to  the  Method  of  Socrates.  In  refuting  his  adversaries  he 
did  not  attack  the  premises,  but  the  conclusion.*  This  is  cer 
tainly  not  the  manner  of  Socrates,  who  always  managed  to  draw 
new  conclusions  from  old  premises,  and  who,  as  Xenophon  says, 
proceeded  from  the  generally  known  to  the  less  known.  As  if 
to  mark  this  distinction  more  completely,  we  are  told  that  Euclid 
rejected  the  analogical  mode  of  reasoning  (<rov  &a  tfapa/SoXyjs 
Xo^ov).  If,  said  he,  the  things  compared  are  alike,  it  is  better  to 
confine  the  attention  to  that  originally  in  question  ;  if  the  things 
compared  are  unlike,  there  must  be  error  in  the  conclusion. 
This  precept  strikes  into  the  weakness  of  Socrates'  method  of 
induction ;  which  was  a  species  of  analogical  reasoning  not  of 
the  highest  order. 

In  dialectics  therefore  we  see  Euclid  following  out  the  Eleatic 
tendency,  and  carrying  forward  the  speculations  of  Zeno.  It 
was  this  portion  of  his  doctrine  that  his  immediate  followers, 
Eubulides,  Diodorus,  and  Alexinus,  undertook  to  carry  out.  The 
Socratic  element  was  further  developed  by  Stilpo. 

"The  majority  of  the  later  members  of  the  Megaric  School," 
says  Ritter,  "are  famous  either  for  the  refutation  of  opposite  doc 
trines,  or  for  the  invention  and  application  of  certain  fallacies ; 
on  which  account  they  were  occasionally  called  Eristici  and  Dia- 
lectici.  Still  it  may  be  presumed  that  they  did  not  employ 
these  fallacies  for  the  purposes  of  delusion,  but  of  instructing 
rash  and  hasty  thinkers,  and  exemplifying  the  superficial  vanity 
of  common  opinion.  At  all  events,  it  is  certain  that  they  were 
mainly  occupied  with  the  forms  of  thought,  more  perhaps  with  a 

*  Diog.  Laert.  ii.  107.  This  is  paraphrased  by  EnficlJ  into  the  following 
contradictory  statement : — "  lie  judged  that  legitimate  argumentation  con 
sists  in  deducing  fair  conclusions  from  acknowledged  premises." — Hist,  of 
Phil  i.  199. 


ARISTIPPUS.  173 

view  to  the  discovery  of  particular  rules,  than  to  the  foundation 
of  a  scientific  system  or  method." 

§  II.  THE  CYRENAIC  SCHOOL. — ARISTIPPUS. 

Among  the  "  imperfect  Socratists"  we  must  rank  Aristippus, 
the  founder  of  the  Cyrenaic  School,  which  borrowed  its  name 
from  the  birthplace  of  its  founder — Gyrene,  in  Africa. 

Aristippus  was  descended  from  wealthy  and  distinguished  pa 
rents,  and  was  consequently  thrown  into  the  vortex  of  luxurious 
debauchery  which  then  characterized  the  colony  of  Minyse.  He 
came  over  to  Greece  to  attend  the  Olympic  games :  there  he 
heard  so  much  of  the  wisdom  of  Socrates  that  he  determined  on 
listening  to  his  enchanting  discourse.  He  made  Socrates  an  offer 
of  a  large  sum  of  money,  which,  as  usual,  was  declined.  The 
great  Talker  did  not  accept  money ;  but  he  willingly  admitted 
Aristippus  among  the  number  of  his  disciples.  It  is  commonly 
asserted  that  the  pupil  did  not  agree  well  with  his  master,  and 
that  his  fondness  for  pleasure  was  offensive  to  Socrates.  There 
is  no  good  authority  for  such  an  assertion.  He  remained  with 
Socrates  until  the  execution  of  the  latter ;  and  there  was  no  bond 
on  either  side  to  have  prevented  their  separation  as  soon  as  they 
disagreed.  The  impression  seems  to  have  originated  in  the  dis 
cussion  reported  by  Xenophon,*  wherein  Aristippus  expresses 
his  political  indifference,  and  Socrates,  by  an  exaggerated  exten 
sion  of  logic,  endeavors  to  prove  his  views  to  be  absurd.  But 
this  is  simply  a  divergence  of  opinion,  such  as  must  have  existed 
between  Socrates  and  many  of  his  followers.  It  merely  shows 
that  Aristippus  thought  for  himself.  Socrates  with  such  men  as 
Aristippus  and  Alcibiades  reminds  one  of  Dr.  Johnson  with  the 
"  young  bloods"  Topham  Beauclerk  and  Bennet  Lang-ton :  he 
was  wise  enough  and  tolerant  enough  not  to  allow  his  virtue  to 
be  scandalized  by  their  love  of  pleasure. 

From  Athens  he  went  to  ^Egina,  where  he  met  with  Lai's,  the 

*  Memorabilia,  ii.  1. 


174  THE    CYRENAIC    SCHOOL. 

world-renowned  courtesan,  whom  he  accompanied  to  Corinth. 
On  his  way  from  Corinth  to  Asia  he  was  shipwrecked  on  the 
island  of  Rhodes.  On  the  sea-coast  he  discovered  a  geometrical 
diagram,  and  exclaimed,  "  Take  courage  ;  I  see  here  the  footsteps 
of  men."  On  arriving  at  the  principal  town,  he  managed  to 
procure  for  himself  and  friends  a  hospitable  reception.  lie  used 
to  say,  "  Send  two  men  amongst  strangers,  and  you  will  see  the 
advantage  of  the  philosopher." 
Aristippus  was  one  of  those 

"  Children  of  the  Sun,  whose  blood  is  fire;" 

but  to  strong  sensual  passions  he  united  a  calm  regulative  intel 
lect.  Prone  to  luxury,  he  avoided  excess.  Easy  and  careless  in 
ordinary  affairs,  he  had  great  dominion  over  his  desires.  Pleas 
ure  was  his  grand  object  in  life ;  but  he  knew  how  to  temper 
enjoyment  with  moderation.  In  disposition  he  was  easy  and 
yielding,  a  "  fellow  of  infinite  mirth,"  a  philosopher  whose  brow 
wras  never  "sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought."  He 
had  none  of  that  dignity  which  mistakes  a  stiff  neck  for  healthy 
virtue.  He  had  no  sternness.  Gay,  brilliant,  careless,  and  en 
joying,  he  became  the  ornament  and  delight  of  the  Court  of 
Dionysius;  that  Court  already  illustrious  by  the  splendid  genius 
of  Plato  and  the  rigid  abstinence  of  Diogenes.  The  grave  de 
portment  of  Plato  and  the  savage  virtue  of  Diogenes  had  less 
charm  for  the  Tyrant  than  the  easy  gayety  of  Aristippus,  W7hose 
very  vices  were  elegant.  His  ready  wit  was  often  put  to  the 
test.  On  one  occasion  three  hetcerce  were  presented  for  him  to 
make  a  choice  :  he  took  them  all  three,  observing  that  it  had 
been  fatal  even  to  Paris  to  make  a  choice.  On  another  occasion, 
in  a  dispute  with  vEschines,  who  was  becoming  violent,  he  said  : 
"Let  us  give  over.  We  have  quarrelled,  it  is  true;  but  I,  as 
your  senior,  have  a  right  to  claim  the  precedency  in  the  reconcil 
iation."*  In  his  old-age  he  appears  to  have  returned  to  Cyrene, 
and  there  opened  his  school. 

*  Several  of  his  repartees  are  recorded  by  Laertius.    We  add  the  best  of 


AKISTIPPUS.  175 

His  philosophy,  as  Hegel  remarks,  takes  its  color  from  his  per 
sonality.  So  individual  is  it,  that  we  should  have  passed  it  over 
entirely,  had  it  not  been  a  precursor  of  Epicureanism.  Its  rela 
tion  to  Socrates  is  also  important. 

In  the  only  passage  in  which,  as  far  as  we  know,  Aristotle* 
mentions  Aristippus,  he  speaks  of  him  as  a  Sophist.  What  does 
this  mean  ?  Was  he  one  of  the  professed  Sophists  ?  No.  It 
means,  we  believe,  that  he  shared  the  opinion  of  the  Sophists  re 
specting  the  uncertainty  of  Science.  That  he  did  share  this 
opinion  is  evident  from  Sextus  Empiricus,j  who  details  his  rea 
sons  :  such  as,  that  external  objects  make  different  impressions 
on  different  senses ;  the  names  which  we  impose  on  these  objects 
express  our  sensations,  but  do  not  express  the  things ;  there  is 
no  criterium  of  truth;  each  judges  according  to  his  impressions; 
none  judge  correctly. 

In  so  far  he  was  a  Sophist ;  but,  as  the  disciple  of  Socrates, 
he  learned  that  the  criterium  of  truth  must  be  sought  within. 
He  dismissed  with  contempt  all  physical  speculations,  as  subjects 
beyond  human  comprehension,  and  concentrated  his  researches 
upon  the  moral  constitution  of  man. 

In  so  far  he  was  a  Socratist.  But,  although  he  took  his  main 
direction  from  Socrates,  yet  his  own  individuality  quickly  turned 
him  into  by-paths  which  his  master  would  have  shunned.  His 
was  not  a  scientific  intellect.  Logical  deduction,  which  wyas 
the  rigorous  process  of  his  master,  suited  neither  his  views  nor 
his  disposition.  He  was  averse  from  abstract  speculations.  His 

them: — Scinus,  the  treasurer  of  Dionysius,  a  man  of  low  character  but  im 
mense  wealth,  once  showed  Aristippus  over  his  house.  While  he  was  expa 
tiating  on  the  splendor  of  every  part,  even  to  the  floors,  the  philosopher  spat 
in  his  face.  Scinus  was  furious.  "Pardon  me,"  exclaimed  Aristippus, 
"  there  was  no  other  place  where  I  could  have  spat  with  decency."  One 
day,  in  interceding  with  the  Tyrant  for  a  friend,  he  threw  himself  on  his 
knees.  Being  reproached  for  such  want  of  dignity,  he  answered,  "  Is  it  my 
fault  if  Dionysius  has  his  ears  in  his  feet?"  One  day  he  asked  the  Tyrant 
for  some  money.  Dionysius  made  him  own  that  a  philosopher  had  no  need 
of  money.  "Give,  give,"  replied  Aristippus,  "and  we  will  settle  the  ques 
tion  at  once."  Dionysius  gave.  "  Now,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  I  have  no 
need  of  money."  *  Metaph.  iii.  2.  t  Adv.  Math.  vii.  173. 


176  THE    CYKENAIC    SCHOOL. 

tendency  was  directly  towards  the  concrete.  Hence,  while  Soc 
rates  was  preaching  about  The  Good,  Aristippus  wished  to  spe 
cify  what  it  was ;  and  resolved  it  into  Pleasure.  It  was  the  pith 
and  kernel  of  Socrates'  Ethical  system,  that  Happiness  was  the 
aim  and  desire  of  all  men — the  motor  of  all  action ;  men  only 
erred  because  of  erroneous  notions  of  what  constituted  Happi 
ness.  Thus  the  wise  man  alone  knew  that  to  endure  an  injury 
was  better  than  to  inflict  it;  he  alone  knew  that  immoderate 
gratification  of  the  senses,  being  followed  by  misery,  did  not 
constitute  Happiness,  but  the  contrary.  Aristippus  thought  this 
too  vague.  He  not  only  reduced  this  general  idea  to  a  more 
specific  one.  namely,  Pleasure ;  he  endeavored  to  show  how 
truth  had  its  only  criterium  in  the  sensation  of  pleasure  or  of 
pain.  Of  that  which  is  without  us  we  can  know  nothing  truly ; 
we  only  know  through  our  senses,  and  our  senses  deceive  us 
with  respect  to  objects.  But  our  senses  do  not  deceive  us  with 
respect  to  our  sensations.  We  may  not  perceive  things  truly ; 
but  it  is  true  that  we  perceive.  We  may  doubt  respecting  ex 
ternal  objects;  we  cannot  doubt  respecting  our  sensations. 
Amongst  those  sensations  we  naturally  seek  the  repetition  of 
such  as  are  pleasurable,  and  shun  those  that  are  painful. 

Pleasure,  then,  as  the  only  positive  good,  and  as  the  only  pos 
itive  test  of  what  was  good,  he  declared  to  be  the  end  of  life ; 
but,  inasmuch  as  for  constant  pleasure  the  soul  must  preserve  its 
dominion  over  desires,  this  pleasure  was  only  another  form  of  the 
Socratic  temperance.  It  is  distinguished  from  the  Socratic  con 
ception  of  Pleasure,  however,  in  being  positive,  and  not  merely 
the  gratification  of  a  want.  In  the  Pkcedo,  Socrates,  on  being 
released  from  his  chains,  reflects  upon  the  intimate  connection 
of  pleasure,  and  pain;  and  calls  the  absence  of  pain^  pleasure. 
Aristippus,  on  the  contrary,  taught  that  pleasure  is  not  the  mere 
removal  of  pain :  they  are  both  positive  emotions ;  non-pleasure 
and  non-pain  are  not  emotions,  but  as  it  were  the  sleep  of  the  soul.* 

*  Diog.  Laert.  ii.  89. 


ANTISTHENES.  177 

In  the  application  of  this  doctrine  to  ethics,  Aristippus  be 
trays  both  his  Sophistic  and  Socratic  education.  With  the 
Sophists  he  regarded  pleasure  and  pain  as  the  proper  criteria  of 
actions;  no  action  being  in  itself  either  good  or  bad,  but  only 
such  according  to  convention.  AVith  Socrates,  however,  he  re 
garded  the  advantages  acquired  by  injustice  to  be  trifling; 
whereas  the  evils  and  apprehensions  of  punishment  are  consid 
erable  ;  and  pleasure  was  the  result,  not  of  individual  prosperity 
alone,  but  of  the  welfare  of  the  whole  State. 

In  reviewing  the  philosophy,  such  as  it  was,  of  Aristippus,  we 
cannot  fail  to  be  struck  with  the  manifest  influence  of  Socrates ; 
although  his  method  was  not  followed,  we  see  the  ethical  ten 
dency  predominating.  In  the  Megaric  School  the  abstract  idea 
of  The  Good  (TO  dyaQov)  of  Socrates,  was  grounded  on  the  Eleatic 
conception  of  The  One.  In  the  Cyrenaic,  the  abstract  concep 
tion  was  reduced  to  the  concrete,  Pleasure ;  and  this  became 
the  only  ground  of  certitude,  and  morals  the  only  science.  In 
the  Cynic  School  we  shall  see  a  still  further  development  in  this 
direction. 

§  III.  THE  CYNICS. — ANTISTHENES  AND  DIOGENES. 

Cynicism  is  an  imposing  blasphemy.  It  imposed  on  antiquity  ; 
it  has  imposed  on  many  modern  imaginations  by  the  energy  of 
its  self-denials  ;  but  it  is  a  "  blasphemy  against  the  divine  beauty 
of  life,"  blasphemy  against  the  divinity  of  man.  To  lead  the 
life  of  a  Dog  is  not  the  vocation  of  Man. 

Nevertheless  there  were  some  points  both  in  the  characters 
and  doctrines  of  the  founders  of  this  School  which  may  justly 
claim  the  admiration  of  mankind.  Their  contemporaries  re 
garded  them  with  feelings  mingled  with  awe.  We  at  least  may 
pay  a  tribute  to  their  energy. 

Antisthenes  was  born  at  Athens,  of  a  Phrygian  mother.  In 
early  life  he  distinguished  himself  at  the  battle  of  Tauagra. 
After  this  he  studied  under  Gorgias,  the  Sophist,  and  established 
a  school  for  himself;  but,  captivated  by  the  practical  wisdom  of 


ITS  THE   CYNICS. 

Socrates,  lie  ceased  to  teach,  and  became  once  more  a  pupil ; 
nay  more,  he  persuaded  all  his  pupils  to  come  with  him  to 
Socrates,  and  there  learn  true  wisdom.  This  is  genuine  mod 
esty,  such  as  philosophers  have  rarely  exhibited.  He  was  then 
somewhat  advanced  in  life ;  his  opinions  on  many  points  were 
too  deeply  rooted  to  be  exchanged  for  others ;  but  the  tendency 
of  the  Socratic  philosophy  towards  Ethics,  and  the  character  of 
that  system  as  leading  to  the  moral  perfection  of  man,  seemed 
entirely  to  captivate  him.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Socrates 
did  not  teach  positive  doctrines ;  he  enabled  each  earnest  thinker 
to  evolve  a  doctrine  for  himself.  All  Socrates  did,  was  to  give 
an  impulsion  in  a  certain  direction,  and  to  furnish  a  certain 
Method.  His  real  disciples  accepted  the  Method ;  his  imperfect 
disciples  only  accepted  the  impulsion.  Antisthenes  was  of  the 
latter.  Accordingly  his  system  was  essentially  personal.  He 
was  stern,  and  his  doctrine  was  rigid ;  he  was  proud,  and  his 
doctrine  was  haughty ;  he  was  cold,  and  his  doctrine  was  un- 
syrnpathizing  and  self-isolating ;  he  was  brave,  and  his  doctrine 
was  a  battle.  The  effeminacy  of  the  luxurious  he  despised ;  the 
baseness  of  courtiers  and  flatterers  he  hated.  He  worshipped 
Virtue;  but  it  was  Virtue  sometimes  ferocious  and  unbending. 

Even  whilst  with  Socrates  he  displayed  his  contempt  of  ordi 
nary  usages,  and  his  pride  in  differing  from  other  men.  He 
used  to  appear  in  a  threadbare  cloak,  with  ostentatious  poverty. 
Socrates  saw  through  it  all,  and  exclaimed,  "  I  see  your  vanity, 
Autisthenes,  peering  through  holes  in  your  cloak !"  How  dif 
ferent  was  this  from  Socrates!  He,  too,  had  inured  himself  to 
poverty,  to  heat,  and  to  cold,  in  order  that  he  might  bear  the 
chances  of  fortune;  but  he  made  no  virtue  of  being  ragged, 
hungry,  and  cold.  Antisthenes  thought  he  could  only  preserve 
his  virtue  by  becoming  a  savage.  He  wore  no  garment  except  a 
coarse  cloak ;  allowed  his  beard  to  grow ;  carried  a  wallet  and  a 
staff;  and  renounced  all  diet  but  the  simplest.  His  manners 
corresponded  to  his  appearance.  Stern,  reproachful,  and  bitter 
in  his  language  ;  careless  and  indecent  in  his  gestures.  His  con- 


DIOGENES.  179 

tempt  of  all  sensual  enjoyment  was  expressed  in  his  saying,  "  I 
would  rather  be  mad  than  sensual  !"* 

On  the  death  of  Socrates  he  formed  a  school,  and  chose  for 
his  place  of  meeting  a  public  place  in  that  quarter  of  Athens 
called  the  Cynosarges,  from  which  some  say  the  sect  of  Cynics 
derives  its  name ;  others  derive  it  from  the  snarling  propensities 
of  the  founder,  who  was  frequently  called  "  The  Dog."  As  he 
grew  old,  his  gloomy  temper  became  morose :  he  became  so  in 
supportable  that  all  his  scholars  left  him,  except  Diogenes  of 
Sinope,  who  was  with  him  at  his  death.  In  his  last  agony, 
Dioa-enes  asked  him  whether  he  needed  a  friend.  "  Will  a  friend 

i3 

release  me  from  this  pain  ?"  he  replied.  Diogenes  gave  him  a 
dagger,  saying,  "This  will."  "I  wish  to  be  freed  from  pain, 
not  from  life,"  was  the  reply. 

The  contempt  he  uniformly  expressed  for  mankind  may  be 
read  in  two  of  his  sayings.  Being  asked,  what  was  the  peculiar 
advantage  to  be  derived  from  philosophy^  he  answered,  "  It  en 
ables  me  to  keep  company  with  mysel£"  Being  told  that  he 
was  greatly  praised  by  many,  "  Have  I  done  any  thing  wrong, 
then,  that  I  am  praised  ?"  he  asked.f 

DIOGENES  of  Sinope  is  generally  remembered  as  the  represen 
tative  of  Cynicism ;  probably  because  more  anecdotes  of  his  life 
have  descended  to  us.  He  was  the  son  of  a  .banker  at  Sinope, 
who  was  convicted  of  debasing  the  coin ;  an  affair  in  which  the 
son  was  also  supposed  to  have  been  implicated.  Diogenes  fled 
to  Athens.  From  the  heights  of  splendor  and  extravagance,  he 
found  himself  reduced  to  squalid  poverty.  The  magnificence  of 
poverty,  which  Antisthenes  proclaimed^  attracted  him.  Poor, 


*  It  is  thus  we  would  interpret  Diog.  Laert.  vi.  3 : — Mavcirjv  //aAAov  7| 
fjffQciriv.  Eitter  gives  this  version: — "  I  had  rather  go  mad  than  experience 
pleasure  ;"  which  is  an  outrageous  sentiment. 

t  Dr.  Enfield,  who  generally  manages  to  introduce  some  blunder  into 
every  page,  has  spoiled  this  repartee,  by  giving  it  as  a  reply  to  the  praise  of 
a  bad  man.  Yet  the  language  of  Diogenes  Laertius  is  very  explicit.;— 
ce  enaKivovffi  (vi.  8). 

\  See  .the  Banquet  of  Xenophoa. 


180  THE   CYNICS. 

he  was  ready  to  embrace  the  philosophy  of  poverty ;  an  outcast, 
he  was  ready  to  isolate  himself  from  society ;  branded  with  dis 
grace,  he  was  ready  to  shelter  himself  under  a  philosophy  which 
branded  all  society.  Having  in  his  own  person  experienced  how 
little  wealth  and  luxury  can  do  for  the  happiness  of  man,  he  was 
the  more  inclined  to  try  the  converse;  having  experienced  how 
wealth  prompts  to  vice,  and  how  desires  generate  desires,  he  was 
willing  to  try  the  efficacy  of  poverty  and  virtue.  He  went  to 
Antisthenes ;  was  refused.  He  continued  to  offer  himself  to 
the  Cynic  as  a  scholar ;  the  Cynic  raised  his  knotty  staff,  and 
threatened  to  strike  him  if  he  did  not  depart.  "  Strike !"  re 
plied  Diogenes;  "you  will  not  find  a  stick  hard  enough  to  con 
quer  my  perseverance."  Antisthenes,  overcome,  accepted  him 
as  a  pupil. 

To  live  a  life  of  virtue  was  henceforward  his  sole  aim.  That 
virtue  was  Cynicism.  It  consisted  in  the  complete  renunciation 
of  all  luxury — the  subjugation  of  all  sensual  desires.  It  was  a 
war  carried  on  by  the  Mind  against  the  Body.  As  with  the 
Ascetics  of  a  later  day,  the  basis  of  a  pure  life  was  thought  to  be 
the  annihilation  of  the  Body ;  the  nearer  any  one  approached  to 
such  a  suicide,  the  nearer  he  was  to  the  ideal  of  virtue.  The 
Body  was  vile,  filthy,  degraded,  and  degrading;  it  was  the  curse 
of  man ;  it  was  the  clog  upon  the  free  development  of  Mind ;  it 
was  wrestled  with,  hated,  and  despised.  This  beautiful  Body, 
so  richly  endowed  for  enjoyment,  was  regarded  as  the  "  sink  of 
all  iniquity." 

Accordingly,  Diogenes  limited  his  desires  to  necessities.  He 
ate  little ;  and  what  he  ate  was  of  the  coarsest.  He  tried  to 
live  upon  raw  meat  and  unboiled  vegetables,  but  failed.  His 
dress  consisted  solely  of  a  cloak :  when  he  asked  Antisthenes  for 
a  shirt,  he  was  told  to  fold  his  cloak  in  two ;  he  did  so.  A  wal 
let  and  a  huge  stick  completed  his  accoutrements.  Seeing  a 
little  boy  drinking  water  out  of  his  scooped  hand,  he  threw 
away  his  cup,  declaring  it  superfluous.  He  slept  under  the 
marble  porticoes  of  the  buildings,  or  in  his  celebrated  Tub, 


DIOGENES.  181 

which  was  his  place  of  residence.  He  took  his  meals  in  public. 
In  public  he  performed  all  those  actions  which  decency  has  con 
demned  to  privacy.  Decency  of  every  kind  he  studiously  out 
raged.  It  was  a  part  of  his  system  to  do  so.  Every  thing,  not 
in  itself  improper,  ought,  he  said,  to  be  performed  publicly. 
Besides,  he  was  wont  to  annoy  people  with  indecent  gestures ; 
had  he  a  philosophical  reason  for  that  also  ? 

Doubts  have  been  expressed  respecting  his  Tub,  which,  it  is 
thought,  was  only  an  occasional  residence,  and  used  by  him  as 
expressive  of  his  contempt  for  luxury.  We  incline,  however,  to 
the  tradition.  It  is  in  keeping  with  all  we  know  of  the  man; 
and  that  a  Tub  could  suffice  for  a  domicile  we  may  guess  from 
Aristophanes.* 

It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the  effect  created  by  the  Cynics 
in  the  gay,  luxurious  city  of  Athens.  There  the  climate,  no  less 
than  the  prevailing  manners,  incited  every  one  to  enjoyment. 
The  Cynics  told  them  that  enjoyment  was  unworthy  of  men  ; 
that  there  were  higher  and  purer  things  for  man  to  seek.  To 
the  polished  elegance  of  Athenian  manners  the  Cynics  opposed 
the  most  brutal  coarseness  they  could  assume.  To  the  friendly 
flatteries  of  conversation  they  opposed  the  bitterest  pungencies 
of  malevolent  frankness.  They  despised  all  men ;  and  told 
them  so. 

Now,  although  we  cannot  but  regard  Cynicism  as  a  very  pre 
posterous  doctrine — as  a  feeble  solution  of  the  great  problem  of 
morals,  and  not  a  very  amiable  feebleness — we  admit  that  it  re 
quired  some  great  qualities  in  its  upholders.  It  required  a  great 
rude  energy ;  a  fanatical  logicality  of  mind ;  a  power  over  self, — 
narrow  it  may  be,  but  still  a  power.  These  qualities  are  not 
common  qualities,  and  therefore  they  command  respect.  Any 
deviation  from  the  beaten  path  implies  a  certain  resolution ;  a 
steady  and  consistent  deviation  implies  force.  All  men  respect 

*  Knights,  793 :  the  people  are  there  spoken  of  as  having  been  forced  to 
live,  during  the  war,  in  "pigeon-holes  and  corners  of  turrets:"  yvnapiois  xal 
Tvpyi6lots ;  unless,  indeed,  this  is  purely  a  metaphorical  expression. 


182  THE   CYNICS. 

force.  The  power  of  subjugating  ordinary  desires  to  one  remote 
but  calculated  end,  always  impresses  men  with  a  sense  of  unusual 
power.  Few  are  aware  that  to  regulate  desires  is  more  difficult 
than  to  subjugate  them — requires  greater  power  of  mind,  greater 
will,  greater  constancy.  Yet  every  one  knows  that  abstinence  is 
easier  than  temperance :  on  the  same  principle,  it  is  easier  to  be 
a  Cynic  than  a  wise  and  virtuous  Epicurean. 

That  which  prevents  our  feeling  the  respect  for  the  Cynics 
which  the  ancients  seem  to  have  felt,  and  which,  indeed,  some 
portions  of  the  Cynical  doctrine  would  otherwise  induce  us  to 
feel,  is  the  studious  and  uncalled-for  outrages  on  common  decen 
cy  and  humanity  which  Diogenes,  especially,  perpetrated.  All 
the  anecdotes  that  have  come  down  to  us  seem  to  reveal  a  snarl 
ing  and  malevolent  spirit,  worshipping  Virtue  only  because  it 
was  opposed  to  the  vices  of  contemporaries;  taking  a  pride  in 
poverty  and  simplicity  only  because  others  sought  wealth  and 
luxury.  It  may  be  well  to  raise  an  earnest  protest  against  the 
vices  of  one's  age;  but  it  is  not  well  to  bring  virtue  into  discredit 
by  the  manner  of  the  protest.  Doubtless  the  Athenians  needed 
reproof  and  reformation,  and  some  exaggeration  on  the  opposite 
side  might  have  been  allowed  to  the  reformers.  But  Diogenes 
was  so  feeble  in  doctrine,  so  brutal  in  manner,  that  we  doubt 
whether  the  debauchery  of  the  first  profligate  in  that  profligate 
city  were  more  reprehensible  than  the  debauchery  of  pride  which 
disgraced  the  Cynic.  The  whole  character  of  the  man  is  exhib 
ited  in  one  anecdote.  Plato  had  given  a  splendid  entertainment 
to  some  friends.  Diogenes  entered,  unbidden,  and  stamping  on 
the  rich  carpets,  said,  "  Thus  I  trample  on  the  pride  of  Plato ;" 
whereupon  Plato  admirably  replied,  "With  greater  pride,  O 
Diogenes." 

Diogenes,  doubtless,  practised  great  abstinence.  He  made  a 
virtue  of  his  necessity ;  and,  being  poor,  resolved  to  be  ostenta 
tiously  poor.  The  ostentation  being  novel,  was  mistaken  for 
something  greater  than  it  was;  being  in  contradiction  to  the 
universal  tendency  of  his  contemporaries,  it  was  supposed  to 


DIOGENES.  183 

spring  from  higher  motives.  There  are  men  who  bear  poverty 
meekly ;  there  are  men  who  look  upon  wealth  without  envy, 
certain  that  wealth  does  not  give  happiness;  there  are  men 
whose  souls  are  so  fixed  on  higher  things  as  utterly  to  disregard 
the  pomps  and  shows  of  the  world ;  but  none  of  these  despise 
wealth,  they  disregard  it ;  none  of  these  display  their  feelings, 
they  are  content  to  act  upon  them.  The  virtue  which  is  loud, 
noisy,  ostentatious,  and  self-affirmative,  looks  very  like  an  obtru 
sive  egoism.  And  this  was  the  virtue  of  the  Cynics.  Pretend 
ing  to  reform  mankind,  it  began  by  blaspheming  humanity ; 
pretending  to  correct  the  effeminacies  of  the  age,  it  studiously 
outraged  all  the  decencies  of  life.  Eluding  the  real  difficulty  of 
the  problem,  it  pretended  to  solve  it  by  unabashed  insolence. 

In  his  old  age  Diogenes  was  taken  captive  by  pirates,  who 
carried  him  to  Crete,  and  exposed  him  for  sale  as  a  slave.  On 
being  asked  what  he  could  do,  he  replied,  "  Govern  men :  sell 
me,  therefore,  to  one  who  wants  a  master."  Xeniades,  a  wealthy 
Corinthian,  struck  with  this  reply,  purchased  him,  and,  on  re 
turning  to  Corinth,  gave  him  his  liberty  and  consigned  his  chil 
dren  to  his  education.  The  children  were  taught  to  be  Cynics, 
much  to  their  own  satisfaction.  It  was  during  this  period  that 
his  world-renowned  interview  with  Alexander  took  place.  The 
prince,  surprised  at  not  seeing  Diogenes  joining  the  crowd  of  his 
flatterers,  went  to  see  him.  He  found  the  Cynic  sitting  in  his 
tub,  basking  in  the  sun.  "I  am  Alexander  the  Great,"  said  he. 
"  I  am  Diogenes  the  Cynic,"  was  the  reply.  Alexander  then 
asked  him  if  there  was  any  thing  he  could  do  for  him.  "Yes, 
stand  aside  from  between  me  and  the  sun."  Surprised  at  such 
indifference  to  princely  favor — an  indifference  so  strikingly  con 
trasted  with  every  thing  he  could  hitherto  have  witnessed — he 
exclaimed,  "Were  I  not  Alexander,  I  would  be  Diogenes  !"  One 
day,  being  brought  before  the  King,  and  being  asked  who  he 
was,  Diogenes  replied,  "  A  spy  on  your  cupidity  ;"  language,  the 
boldness  of  which  must  have  gained  him  universal  admiration, 
because  implying  great  singularity  as  well  as  force  of  character. 


184:  THE    CYNICS. 

Singularity  and  Insolence  may  be  regarded  as  his  grand  char 
acteristics.  Both  of  these  are  exemplified  in  the  anecdote  of  his 
lighting  a  lamp  in  the  daytime,  and  peering  about  the  streets  as 
if  earnestly  seeking  something:  being  asked  what  he  sought,  he 
replied,  "  A  Man."  The  point  of  this  story  is  lost  in  the  usual 
version,  which  makes  him  seek  "  an  honest  man."  The  words 
in  Laertius  are  simply,  oivdpuifov  ^rjrw — "I  seek  a  man."  Diog 
enes  did  not  seek  honesty  ;  he  wanted  to  find  a  Man,  in  whom 
honesty  would  be  included  with  many  other  qualities.  It  was 
his  constant  reproach  to  his  contemporaries,  that  they  had  no 
manhood.  He  said  he  had  never  seen  men ;  at  Sparta  he  had 
seen  children ;  at  Athens,  women.  One  day  he  called  out, 
"Approach,  all  men!"  When  some  approached,  he  beat  them 
back  with  his  club,  saying,  "  I  called  for  men ;  ye  are  excre 
ments." 

Thus  he  lived  till  his  ninetieth  year,  bitter,  brutal,  ostenta 
tious,  and  abstemious ;  disgracing  the  title  of  "  The  Dog"  (for  a 
dog  has  affection,  gratitude,  sympathy,  and  caressing  manners), 
yet  growling  over  his  unenvied  virtue  as  a  cur  growls  over  his 
meatless  bone,  forever  snarling  and  snapping  without  occasion ; 
an  object  of  universal  attention,  and  from  many  quarters,  of  un 
feigned  admiration.  One  day  his  friends  went  to  see  him.  On 
arriving  at  the  portico  under  which  he  was  wont  to  sleep,  they 
found  him  still  lying  on  the  ground  wrapped  in  his  cloak.  He 
seemed  to  sleep.  They  pushed  aside  the  folds  of  his  cloak :  he 
was  dead.* 

The  Doctrine  of  the  Cynics  may  be  briefly  expounded.  Antis- 
thenes,  as  the  disciple  of  Gorgias,  was  imbued  with  the  sophistical 
principles  respecting  Science  ;  principles  which  his  acquaintance 
with  Socrates  did  not  alter.  He  maintained  that  Science  was 
impossible.  He  utterly  rejected  the  Socratic  notion  of  Defini- 

*  It  was  thought  that  he  had  committed  suicide  by  holding  his  breath, — a 
physical  impossibility.  Other  versions  of  the  cause  of  his  death  were  cur 
rent  in  antiquity ;  one  of  them  seems  consistent  with  his  character ;  it  makes 
him  die  in  consequence  of  devouring  a  neat's  foot  raw. 


THE    CYNICS.  185 

tions.  He  said  that  a  Definition  was  nothing  but  a  series  of 
words  (Xoyov  jxaxpov,  "  a  long  discourse") ;  for  which  Aristotle 
calls  him  an  ignoramus.*  To  the  Socratic  notion  of  a  Defini 
tion,  as  including  the  essence  of  a  thing,  he  opposed  the  Sophistic 
notion  of  a  Definition,  as  expressing  a  purely  subjective  relation. 
You  can  only  express  qualities,  not  essences  5  you  can  call  a 
thing  silver,  but  you  cannot  say  in  what  it  consists.  Your  defi 
nition  is  only  verbal :  hence  the  first  step  in  education  should  be 
the  study  of  words.f 

What  was  the  consequence  of  this  skepticism  ?  The  conse 
quence  was,  that  the  Cynics  answered  arguments  by  facts. 
When  some  one  was  arguing  in  support  of  Zeno  of  Elea's  notion 
respecting  the  impossibility  of  movement,  Diogenes  rose  and 
\valked.  Definitions  might  prove  that  there  was  no  motion  ; 
but  definitions  were  only  verbal,  and  could  be  answered  by  facts. 

This  refuge  found  in  common-sense  against  the  assaults  of 
logic,  enabled  the  Cynics  to  shape  a  doctrine  of  morals  which 
had  some  certain  basis.  As  they  answered  arguments  by  facts, 
so  they  made  actions  take  the  place  of  precepts.  Instead  of 
speculating  about  virtue,  they  endeavored  to  be  virtuous.  Soc 
rates  had  brought  philosophy  from  the  clouds ;  the  Cynics 
endeavored  to  bring  it  into  daily  practice.  Their  personal  dispo 
sitions  gave  the  peculiar  coloring  to  their  doctrine,  as  that  of 
Aristippus  had  done  to  the  Cyrenaic. 

*  'Arai<5e*ro?. — Metapli.  viii.  3. 

t  Arrian,  Epictet.,  Diss.  i.  17,  quoted  in  Eitter  and  Prcller,  Hist.  Philos. 
Groico- Romance  exfont-ium  locis  contexta  (Hamburg,  1838).  p.  174. 


SIXTH  EPOCH. 


COMPLETE  ADOPTION  AND  APPLICATION  OF  THE   SOCRATIC 
METHOD.— PLATO. 


§  I.  LIFE  OF  PLATO. 

PERHAPS  of  all  ancient  writers,  Plato's  name  is  the  best  known. 
Homer  himself  is  unknown  to  many  who  have  some  dim  notion 
of  Plato  as  the  originator  of  the  so-called  Platonic  love.  There 
is  a  great  and  wide-spread  interest  about  the  Grecian  sage.  The 
young  and  romantic  have  strange,  romantic  ideas  of  him.  "  The 
general  reader,"  especially  if  a  dabbler  in  fashionable  philosophy, 
or  rather  in  the  philosophy  current  in  fashionable  novels,  has  a 
very  exalted  notion  of  him  as  the  "  great  Idealist."  The  theo 
logical  reader  regards  him  with  affection,  as  the  stout  and  elo 
quent  upholder  of  the  doctrine  of  the  immateriality  and  immor 
tality  of  the  soul.  The  literary  critic  often  regards  him  as  the 
type  of  metaphysical  eloquence,  and  classes  with  him  every 
vapory,  mystical,  metaphorical  writer  of  "  poetical  philosophy." 

Now,  except  that  of  the  theologian,  these  notions,  derived  at 
second-hand,  are  all  false.  It  would  be  idle  to  inquire  how  such 
extravagant  opinions  came  into  circulation.  Enough  for  us  that 
they  are  false.  Plato  was  any  thing  but  "  dreamy  ;"  any  thing 
but  "an  Idealist,"  as  that  phrase  is  usually  understood.  He  was 
an  inveterate  dialectician,  a  severe  and  abstract  thinker,  and  a 
great  quibbler.  His  metaphysics  are  of  a  nature  to  frighten 
away  all  but  the  most  determined  students,  so  abstract  and  so 
subtle  are  they.  His  morals  and  politics,  so  far  from  having  any 
romantic  tinge,  are  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  logical  severity ;  hard, 


LIFE    OF   PLATO.  187 

uncompromising,  and  above  humanity.  In  a  word,  Plato  the 
man  was  almost  completely  absorbed  in  Plato  the  Dialecti 
cian  :  he  had  learned  to  look  upon  human  passion  as  a  dis 
ease,  and  human  pleasure  as  a  frivolity.  The  only  thing  worth 
living  for  was  truth.  Dialectics  was  the  noblest  exercise  of  hu 
manity. 

Even  the  notions  respecting  his  style  are  erroneous.  It  is  not 
the  "  poetical"  metaphorical  style  usually  asserted.  It  has  un 
mistakable  beauties,  but  not  the  beauties  popularly  attributed 
to  it.  Its  immense  power  is  dramatic  power.  The  best  dia 
logues  are  inimitable  scenes  of  comedy.  Character,  banter, 
irony,  and  animation  are  there,  but  scarcely  any  imagery,  and 
that  seldom  beautiful.*  His  object  was  to  refute  or  to  convince  ; 
his  illustrations  are  therefore  homely.  When  fit  occasion  arrives 
he  can  be  eloquent  and  familiar.  He  clothes  some  myths  in 
language  of  splendid  beauty ;  and  there  are  many  felicitous 
passages  scattered  through  the  dreary  waste  of  dialectical  quib 
bling  and  obscurity.  These  passages  have  been  quoted  by  vari 
ous  writers;  hence  readers  have  supposed  that  Plato  always 
wrote  in  such  strains.  But  very  fine  passages  are  also  to  be 
found  in  Aristotle,  who  is  nevertheless  a  repulsive  writer  on  the 
whole. 

In  truth,  Plato  is  a  very  difficult,  and,  as  far  as  regards  matter, 
somewhat  tedious  writer ;  this  is  the  reason  of  his  being  so  little 
read  :  for  we  must  not  be  deceived  by  the  many  editions.  He  is 
often  mentioned  and  often  quoted  at  second-hand ;  but  he  is 
rarely  read,  except  by  professed  scholars  and  critics.  Men  of 
culture  usually  attack  a  dialogue  or  two  out  of  curiosity.  Their 
curiosity  seldom  inspirits  them  to  further  progress.  The  difficul- 

"  Even  upon  abstract  subjects,  whether  moral,  metaphysical,  or  mathe 
matical,  the  language  of  Plato  is  clear  as  the  running  stream ;  and  in  sim 
plicity  and  sweetness  vies  with  the  humble  violet  which  perfumes  the  vale." 
—Dr.  Enfield,  Hist,  of  Phil.  ii.  221.  Whenever  you  meet  with  such  trash  as 
this,  be  dubious  that  the  writer  of  it  ever  read  Plato.  Aristotle  capitally 
describes  Plato's  style  as  "a  middle  species  of  diction  between  verse  and 
prose."  It  has  rhythm  rather  than  imagery. 


188  LIFE   OF   PLATO. 

ty  of  mastering  the  ideas,  and  their  unsatisfactory  nature  when 
mastered,  are  barriers  to  any  general  acquaintance  with  Plato. 
But  those  who  persevere  believe  themselves  repaid ;  the  journey 
has  been  difficult,  but  it  was  worth  performing. 

Aristocles,  surnamed  Plato  (the  broad-browed),*  the  son  of 
Ariston  and  Perictione,  was  born  at  Athens  or  JEgina,  01.  87.3, 
on  the  7th  Thargelion  (about  the  middle  of  May,  B.  c.  430). 
His  childhood  and  youth  consequently  synchronize  with  the 
Peloponnesian  war,  the  most  active  and  brilliant  period  of  Gre 
cian  thought  and  action.  His  lineage  was  illustrious :  on  the 
maternal  side  he  was  connected  with  Solon. 

So  great  a  name  could  not  escape  becoming  the  nucleus  of 
many  fables,  and  we  find  the  later  historians  gravely  repeating 
various  miraculous  events  connected  with  him.  He  was  said  to 
be  the  child  of  Apollo,  his  mother  a  virgin.  Ariston,  though 
betrothed  to  Perictione,  delayed  his  marriage  because  Apollo 
had  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream,  and  told  him  that  she  was  with 
child. 

Plato's  education  was  excellent;  and  in  gymnastics  he  was 
sufficiently  skilled  to  contend  at  the  Pythian  and  Isthmian  games. 
Like  a  true  Greek,  he  attached  extreme  importance  to  gymnas 
tics,  as  doing  for  the  body  what  dialectics  did  for  the  mind ;  and, 
like  a  true  Greek,  he  did  not  suffer  these  corporeal  exercises  to 
absorb  all  his  time  and  attention :  poetry,  music,  and  rhetoric 
were  assiduously  cultivated,  and  with  some  success.  He  wrote 
an  epic  poem,  besides  some  tragedies,  dithyrambics,  lyrics,  and 
epigrams.  The  epic  he  is  said  to  have  burned  in  a  fit  of  despair 
on  comparing  it  with  Homer.  The  tragedies  he  burned  on  be- 


*  Some  writers  incline  to  the  opinion  that  "Plato"  was  the  epithet  of 
broad-browed;  others  of  broad-shouldered  ;  others,  again,  that  it  was  ex 
pressive  of  the  breadth  of  his  style.  This  last  is  absurd.  The  author  of  the 
article  Plato  in  the  Penny  Cyclopaedia  pronounces  all  the  above  explanations 
to  be  "idle,  as  the  name  of  Plato  was  of  common  occurrence  among  the 
Athenians  of  that  time."  But  surely  Aristocles  was  not  endowed  with  this 
surname  of  Plato  without  cause  ?  Unless  he  derived  the  name  from  a  rela 
tion,  he  must  have  derived  it  from  one  of  the  above  causes. 


LIFE    OF    PLATO.  189 

coming  acquainted  with  Socrates.     The  epigrams  have  been  par 
tially  preserved.     One  of  them  is  very  beautiful  : 


icra9pt7s,  darfip  f/^oY  ride  ycvoifiTjv 
Ovpavbg,  a»j  roAAoTj  Sp/jtaatp  t"s  at  fiXtnii). 

"  Thou  gazest  on  the  stars,  my  Life  !     Ah  !  gladly  would  I  be 
Yon  starry  skies,  with  thousand  eyes,  that  I  might  gaze  on  thee  !" 

His  studies  of  poetry  were  mingled  with  those  of  philosophy, 
which  he  must  have  cultivated  early  ;  for  we  know  that  he  was 
only  twenty  when  he  first  went  to  Socrates,  and  we  also  know 
that  he  had  been  taught  by  Cratylus  before  he  knew  Socrates. 
Early  he  must  have  felt 

"  A  presence  that  disturbed  him  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts  ;  a  sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living  air, 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man: 
A  motion  and  a  spirit  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things." 

A  deep  and  meditative  spirit  led  him  to  question  Nature  in 
her  secret  haunts.  The  sombre  philosophy  of  Heraclitus  suited 
well  with  his  melancholy  youth.  Skepticism,  which  was  the 
fever  of  that  age,  had  seized  on  Plato  as  on  all  the  rest.  This 
skepticism,  together  with  an  imperious  craving  for  belief  which 
struggled  with  the  skepticism,  found  breathing-room  in  the  doc 
trines  of  Socrates  ;  and  the  young  scholar  learned  that  without 
impugning  the  justice  of  his  doubts,  he  could  escape  them  by 
seeking  Truth  elsewhere. 

He  remained  with  Socrates  ten  years,  and  was  separated  from 
him  only  by  death.  He  attended  his  beloved  master  during  the 
trial  ;  undertook  to  plead  his  cause  ;  indeed,  began  a  speech 
which  the  violence  of  the  judges  would  not  allow  him  to  con 
tinue  ;  and  pressed  his  master  to  accept  a  sum  of  money  suffi 
cient  to  purchase  his  life. 

On  the  death  of  Socrates  he  went  to  Megara  to  visit  Euclid, 
as  we  mentioned  before.  From  thence  he  proceeded  to  Cyrene, 


190  LIFE    OF   PLATO. 

where  he  was  instructed  in  mathematics  by  Theodoras,  whom 
he  had  known  in  Athens,  if  we  may  credit  the  Thecetetus,  where 
Theodoras  is  represented  discoursing  with  Socrates.  From  Cy- 
rene  he  went  to  Egypt,  in  company,  it  is  said,  with  Euripides. 
There  is  very  little  authority  for  this  visit,  and  that  Euripides 
was  his  companion  is  not  very  probable,  because  Euripides  had 
been  dead  some  years.  The  influence  of  Egypt  on  Plato  has 
certainly  been  exaggerated.  There  is  no  trace,  in  his  works,  of 
Egyptian  research.  "All  he  tells  us  of  Egypt  indicates  at  most 
a  very  scanty  acquaintance  with  the  subject ;  and  although  he 
praises  the  industry  of  the  priests,  his  estimate  of  their  scientific 
attainments  is  far  from  favorable."* 

In  these  travels  the  broad-browed  meditative  man  greatly  en 
larged  the  Socratic  doctrine,  and  indeed  introduced  antagonistic 
elements.  But  he  strictly  preserved  the  Socratic  Method. 
"  Whilst  studious  youth,"  says  Valerius  Maximus,  "  were  crowd 
ing  to  Athens  from  every  quarter  in  search  of  Plato  for  their 
master,  that  philosopher  was  wandering  along  the  winding  banks 
of  the  Nile,  or  the  vast  plains  of  a  barbarous  country,  himself  a 
disciple  to  the  old  men  of  Egypt." 

He  returned  at  last,  and  eager  scholars  flocked  around  him. 
With  a  mind  richly  stored  by  foreign  travel  and  constant  medi 
tation,  he  began  to  emulate  his  beloved  master,  and  devote  him 
self  to  teaching.  Like  Socrates,  he  taught  gratuitously.  The 
Academia,  a  public  garden  in  the  neighborhood  of  Athens,  was 
the  favorite  resort  of  Plato,  and  gave  its  name  to  the  school 
which  he  founded.  This  garden  was  planted  with  lofty  plane- 
trees,  and  adorned  with  temples  and  statues;  a  gentle  stream 
rolled  through  it,  with 

"  A  sound  as  of  a  hidden  brook 
In  the  leafy  month  of  June, 
"Which  to  the  sleeping  woods  all  night 
Singeth  a  quiet  tune." 

It  was  a  delicious  retreat,  "  for  contemplation  framed."     The 
*  Kitter,  ii.  147. 


LIFE    OF   PLATO.  191 

longing  thoughts  of  posterity  have  often  hovered  round  it  as  the 
centre  of  myriad  associations.  Poets  have  sung  of  it.  Philoso 
phers  have  sighed  for  it. 

"  See  there  the  olive  grove  of  Academe, 
Plato's  retirement,  where  the  Attic  bird 
Thrills  her  thick-warbled  notes  the  summer  long." 

In  such  a  spot,  where  the  sound 

"  Of  bees'  industrious  murmur  oft  invites 
To  studious  musing," 

one  would  imagine  none  but  the  Graces  could  enter;  and  coup 
ling  this  with  the  poetical  beauties  of  Plato's  Dialogues,  people 
have  supposed  that  the  lessons  in  the  Academy  were  magnifi 
cent  outbursts  of  eloquence  and  imagery  upon  philosophical 
subjects. 

Nothing  can  be  further  from  the  truth.  The  lectures  were 
hard  exercises  of  the  thinking  faculty,  and  demanded  great  power 
of  continued  abstraction.  Whatever  graces  might  have  adorned 
Plato's  compositions,  his  lectures  were  not  literary,  but  dialectical 
exercises. 

Hitter  thinks  differently.  "  His  school  was  less  a  school  of 
hardy  deeds  for  all,  than  of  polished  culture  for  the  higher 
classes,  who  had  no  other  object  than  to  enhance  the  enjoyment 
of  their  privileges  and  wealth."  Does  this  mean  that  Plato  did 
not  teach  Stoicism  ?  If  so,  it  is  a  truism  ;  if  not,  a  falsism  ;  since 
what  has  Dialectics  to  do  with  "  hardy  deeds  ?"  We  are  then 
informed  that  it  was  "  a  school  of  polished  culture  for  the  higher 
classes  :"  a  mere  assertion,  and  a  questionable  one.  The  "  higher 
classes"  principally  frequented  the  Sophists ;  besides,  Plato's  lec 
tures  were  gratuitous,  and  every  free  citizen  might  attend  them, 
on  certain  conditions.  There  were  no  aristocratical  exclusives 
in  Athens ;  there  were  no  "  polished  circles,"  with  a  culture  dif 
fering  from  that  of  the  other  free  citizens.  When  Hitter  says 
that  their  object  was  "  to  enhance  the  enjoyment  of  their  privi 
leges  and  wealth,"  we  are  at  a  loss  to  conceive  his  meaning,  be 
cause  we  do  not  see  how  they  were  to  do  this  by  listening  to 


192  LIFE    OF   PLATO. 

speculations  on  essences  and  archetypal  Ideas ;  the  more  so  as 
Ritter  himself  tells  us  Plato's  views  of  justice  and  honor  were 
"  wholly  impracticable  in  the  corrupt  state  of  the  Athenian  con 
stitution  ;  and  all  empirical  knowledge,  such  as  is  indispensable 
to  a  politician,  was  in  his  view  contemptible."* 

Whatever  their  purpose,  the  Lectures  were  severe  trials  to  the 
capacities  of  students ;  and  their  purely  argumentative  nature 
may  have  originated  the  story  respecting  the  inscription  over  the 
door  of  his  Academy,  "Let  none  but  Geometricians  enter  here  ;" 
a  story  which  is  very  widely  circulated,  although  wholly  with 
out  good  evidence.f  The  story  is  in  direct  contradiction  to  Plato's 
views  of  Geometry,  which  he  excludes  from  Philosophy,  because 
it  assumes  its  axioms  without  proof,  and  because  it  occupies  a 
middle  position  between  Opinion  and  Philosophy,  more  accurate 
than  the  one,  but  less  certain  than  the  othei'.J; 

In  his  fortieth  year  Plato  made  his  first  visit  to  Sicily.  It  was 
then  he  became  acquainted  with  Dionysius  L,  the  Tyrant  of 
Syracuse,  Dion,  his  brother-in-law,  and  Dionysius  II.  With 
Dionysius  I.  he  soon  came  to  a  rupture,  owing  to  his  political 
opinions;  and  he  so  offended  the  Tyrant,  that  his  life  was 
threatened.  Dion,  however,  interceded  for  him  ;  and  the  Tyrant 


*  Some  countenance  seems  given  to  the  ordinary  notion  of  Plato's  Lec 
tures  by  the  tradition  that  even  some  women  attended  them.  "VVe  confess 
this  statement  is  to  us  suspicious,  especially  as  it  is  also  said  that  one  woman 
disguised  herself  in  man's  clothes.  Disguise,  then,  was  necessary.  The 
fact,  however,  if  correct,  would  only  show  the  high  cultivation  of  the  hetcera 
(for  such  the  women  must  have  been) ;  and  when  we  think  of  such  women 
as  Aspasia,  we  see  no  reason  for  supposing  they  could  not  follow  the  ab- 
strusest  lectures. 

t  Mr.  Thompson  says  the  only  authorities  for  the  inscription  are  Philo- 
ponus,  in  his  Commentary  on  Aristotle,  De  Anima,  and  a  verse  in  the 
Chiliads  of  Tzetzes.  See  Notes  to  Butler's  Lectures,  ii.  79. 

£  I  have  been  unable  to  recover  a  passage  in  the  Republic  where  Plato 
expresses  himself  as  in  the  text,  but  I  found  this,  which  approximates  to 
it,  although  not  the  passage  I  had  in  my  mind.  See  Repub.  vi.  towards 
the  end,  beginning,  Mavddvw,  t^r/,  K.T.A.  .  .  .  and  ending,  tudvotav  Sf  K«Ar?v 
ftoi  SoKtts  ri)»  TUV  yew/ trptKwi/  rt  Kai  ri\v  TUV  TOIOVTWV  «£tv,  aAX'  oi  vovv,  wj 
pcra|u  TI  5<5|»7S  re  Knl  vov  rr\v  tiidvoiav  ovcav. 


LIFE    OF    PLATO.  193 

spared  his  life,  but  commissioned  Poll  is,  the  Spartan  Ambassa 
dor,  in  whose  ship  .Plato  was  to  return,  to  sell  him  as  a  slave. 
He  was  sold  accordingly.  Anniceris  of  Gyrene  bought  him,  and 
immediately  set  him  free.  On  his  return  to  Athens,  Dionysius 
wrote,  hoping  that  he  would  not  speak  ill  of  him.  Plato  con 
temptuously  replied,  that  he  had  not  "leisure  to  think  of  Diony 
sius." 

Plato's  second  visit  to  Syracuse  was  after  the  death  of  Diony 
sius  I.,  arid  with  the  hope  of  obtaining  from  Dionysius  II.  the 
establishment  of  a  colony  according  to  laws  framed  by  himself. 
The  colony  was  promised ;  but  never  granted.  Plato  incurred 
the  Tyrant's  suspicions  of  having  been  concerned  in  Dion's  con 
spiracy  ;  but  he  was  allowed  to  return  home  in  peace. 

He  paid  a  third  visit ;  and  this  time  solely  to  endeavor  to  rec 
oncile  Dionysius  with  his  uncle  Dion.  Finding  his  efforts  fruit 
less,  and  perhaps  dangerous,  he  returned. 

Iii  the  calm  retirement  of  the  Academy,  Plato  passed  the  re 
mainder  of  his  days.  Lecturing  and  writing  were  his  chief 
occupations.  The  composition  of  those  dialogues  which  have 
been  the  admiration  of  posterity,  was  the  cheering  solace  of  his 
life,  especially  of  his  declining  years.  He  died  at  the  advanced 
age  of  eighty- three. 

Plato  was  intensely  melancholy.  That  great  broad  brow, 
which  gave  him  his  surname,  was  wrinkled  and  sombre.  Those 
brawny  shoulders  were  bent  with  thought,  as  only  those  of 
thinkers  are  bent.  A  smile  was  the  utmost  that  ever  played 
over  his  lips  ;  he  never  laughed.  "  As  sad  as  Plato,"  became  a 
phrase  with  the  comic  dramatists.  He  had  many  admirers ; 
scarcely  any  friends. 

In  Plato,  the  thinker  predominated  over  the  man.  That  great 
expansive  intellect  had  so  fixed  itself  upon  the  absorbing  ques 
tions  of  philosophy,  that  it  had  scarcely  any  sympathy  left  for 
other  matters.  Hence  his  constant  reprobation  of  Poets.  Many 
suppose  that  the  banishment  of  poets  from  his  Republic  was  but 
an  insincere  extension  of  his  logical  principles,  and  that  he  really 


194:  LIFE    OF    PLATO. 

loved  poetry  too  well  to  condemn  it.  Plato's  opposition  to  poets 
was  however  both  deep  and  constant.  lie  had  a  feeling  not  un- 
allied  to  contempt  for  them,  because  he  saw  in  them  some  resem 
blance  to  the  Sophists,  in  their  indifference  to  truth,  and  prefer 
ence  for  the  arts  of  expression.  The  only  poetry  Plato  ever 
praises  is  moral  poetry,  which  is  versified  philosophy.  His  soul 
panted  for  Truth.  Poets,  at  the  best,  he  held  to  be  inspired 
madmen,  unconscious  of  what  fell  from  their  lips.  Let  the  reader 
open  the  Ion  (it  has  been  translated  by  Shelley) ;  he  will  then 
perceive  the  cause  of  poets  being  banished  from  the  Republic. 
Plato  had  a  repugnance  to  poetry,  partly  because  it  was  the  dan 
gerous  rival  of  philosophy,  partly  because  he  had  a  contempt  for 
pleasure.*  It  is  true  that  he  frequently  quotes  Homer,  and,  to 
wards  the  close  of  the  Republic,  some  misgivings  of  having 
harshly  treated  the  favorite  of  his  youth,  escape  him ;  but  he 
quickly  withdraws  them,  and  owns  that  Truth  alone  should  be 
man's  object. 

There  is  something  unpleasant  in  Plato's  character,  which 
finds  its  echo  in  his  works.  He  was  a  great,  but  not  an  amiable 
man ;  his  works  are  great,  but  lamentably  deficient.  His  ethics 
are  the  ethics  of  a  logician,  not  of  a  large-souled  man,  familiar 
with  and  sympathizing  with  the  complexities  of  life ;  they  are 
suited  only  to  an  impossible  state  of  humanity. 

In  bringing  forward  this  view  of  Plato's  character,  we  shall 
doubtless  shock  many  preconceptions.  The  Plato  we  have  drawn, 
if  not  so  romantic  as  that  usually  drawn,  is  the  only  one  which 
seem  to  us  consonant  with  what  the  ancient  writers  transmit. 
Let  no  one  object  to  our  assertion  of  his  constant  melancholy, 
on  the  ground  of  the  comic  talent  displayed  in  his  Dialogues. 
The  comic  writers  are  not  the  gayest  men ;  even  Moliere,  whose 
humor  is  so  genial,  overflowing,  and  apparently  spontaneous,  was 
one  of  the  austerest.  Comedy  often  springs  from  the  deepest 
melancholy,  as  if  in  sudden  rebound.  Moreover,  in  Plato's 

*  Com  p.  Fhilebus,  p.  131. 


195 

comedy  there  is  almost  always  some  under-current  of  bitterness : 
it  is  Irony,  not  Joyousness. 

§  II.  PLATO'S  WRITINGS  :  THEIR  CHARACTER,  OBJECT,  AND 
AUTHENTICITY. 

Before  attempting  an  exposition  of  Plato's  doctrines,  it  may  be 
useful  to  say  something  respecting  the  character  and  authenticity 
of  his  Dialogues.  Modern  criticism,  which  spares  nothing,  has 
not  left  them  untouched.  Dialogues,  the  authenticity  of  which 
had  never  been  questioned  in  antiquity,  have  been  rejected  by 
modern  critics  upon  arbitrary  grounds. 

We  cannot  enter  here  into  the  details;  we  have  no  space;  and, 
had  we  space,  we  might  be  excused  from  combating  the  individ 
ual  positions,  when  we  refuse  to  accept  as  valid  the  fundamental 
assumptions  on  which  they  repose.  Internal  evidence  is  gener 
ally  deceptive ;  but  the  sort  of  internal  evidence  supposed  to  be 
afforded  by  comparative  inferiority  in  artistic  execution,  is  never 
free  from  great  suspicion.  Some  of  Plato's  dialogues  not  being 
found  equal  to  the  exalted  idea  which  his  great  works  have  led 
men  to  entertain,  are  forthwith  declared  to  be  spurious.  But 
what  writer  is  at  all  times  equal  to  the  highest  of  his  own  nights  ? 
What  author  has  produced  nothing  but  chefs-d'oeuvre  ?  Are 
there  not  times  when  the  most  brilliant  men  are  dull,  when  the 
richest  style  is  meagre,  when  the  compactest  style  is  loose  ?  The 
same  subjects  will  not  always  call  forth  the  same  excellence ; 
how  unlikely  then  that  various  subjects  should  be  treated  with 
uniform  power !  The  Theages  could  hardly  equal  the  Thecetetus  ; 
the  Euthydemus  must  be  inferior  to  the  Gorgias.  No  one  thinks 
of  disputing  Shakspeare's  claim  to  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor, 
because  it  is  immeasurably  inferior  to  Twelfth  Night,  which,  in 
its  turn,  is  inferior  to  Othello. 

Besides  the  dialogues  rejected  on  account  of  inferior  art,  there 
are  others  rejected  on  account  of  immature  or  contradictory  opin 
ions.  But  this  ground  is  as  untenable  as  the  former.  No  one 
has  yet  been  able  to  settle  definitively  what  was  Plato's  philos- 


196 

ophy ;  yet  opinions  are  said  to  be  unworthy  of  that  unsettled 
philosophy !  A  preconceived  notion  of  Plato's  having  been  a 
pure  Socratist,  has  led  to  the  rejection  of  whatever  seemed  con 
tradictory  to  Socratic  views.  But  there  is  abundant  evidence  to 
show  that  Plato  was  not  a  mere  exponent  of  Socratic  opinions. 
Moreover,  in  a  long  life  a  man's  opinions  undergo  many  modifi 
cations  ;  and  Plato  was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  He  contra 
dicts  himself  constantly.  He  does  so  in  works  the  authenticity 
of  which  no  one  has  questioned ;  and  we  are  not  to  be  surprised 
if  we  find  him  doing  so  in  others. 

It  is  somewhat  amusing  to  observe  the  confidence  of  modern 
criticism  on  this  point.*  An  Ast,  or  a  Socher,  or  a  Schleier- 
macher,  rejects,  on  the  most  fallacious  assumptions,  the  authen 
ticity  of  dialogues  quoted  by  Aristotle  as  the  works  of  his  master, 
Plato.  Now  really,  to  suppose  that  Aristotle  could  be  mistaken 
on  such  a  matter  is  a  great  extension  of  the  conjectural  privilege; 
but  to  make  this  supposition  on  no  better  ground  than  that 
of  internal  evidence,  derived  from  inferiority  of  execution,  or 
variation  in  opinion  in  the  works  themselves,  seems  truly  pre 
posterous. 

The  ancients  themselves  admitted  the  Epinomis,  the  Eryxias, 
the  Axiochus,  and  the  Second  Alcibiades,  to  be  spurious.  The 
JZpistles  are  also  now  generally  regarded  as  forgeries.  With 
these  exceptions,  we  really  see  no  reason  for  rejecting  any  of  the 
dialogues.  The  Theages  and  the  Hippias  Major  are  certainly  as 
much  in  Plato's  manner  as  Measure  for  Measure  is  in  Shak- 
speare's ;  indeed,  the  Hippias  seems  to  us  a  remarkably  happy 
specimen  of  his  dramatic  talent. 

But  whether  all  the  Dialogues  were  the  production  of  Plato 
or  not,  they  equally  serve  the  purpose  of  this  history,  since  no  one 

*  "  According  as  the  deification  has  directed  itself  to  this  or  that  aspect 
of  his  character,  the  opinions  raised  as.  to  the  genuineness  or  falsity  of 
his  works  have  fluctuated  ;  so  that  we  might  safely  say,  the  more  his  writ 
ings  have  been  examined,  the  more  has  the  decision  of  their  authenticity 


19T 

denies  them  to  be  Platonic.  We  may  therefore  leave  this  ques 
tion,  and  proceed  to  others. 

Do  the  Dialogues  contain  the  real  opinions  of  Plato  ?  This 
question  has  three  motives.  1st.  Plato  himself  never  speaks  in 
propria  persona,  unless  indeed  the  Athenian  in  the  Laws  be  ac 
cepted  as  representing  him ;  a  supposition  in  which  we  are  in 
clined  to  concur.  2dly.  From  certain  passages  in  the  Phcednis 
and  the  Epistles,  it  would  appear  that  Plato  had  a  contempt  for 
written  opinions,  as  inefficient  for  instruction.  3dly.  On  the  tes 
timony  of  a  phrase  in  Aristotle,  it  is  supposed  that  Plato,  like 
Pythagoras,  had  exoteric  and  esoteric  opinions  ;  the  former  be 
ing,  of  course,  those  set  forth  in  his  Dialogues. 

We  will  endeavor  to  answer  these  doubts.  The  first  is  of  very 
little  importance ;  the  second  of  greater;  the  last  of  very  great  im 
portance.  That  Plato  adopts  the  dramatic  form,  and  preserves 
it,  is  true ;  but  this  form,  which  quite  baffles  us  with  Shakspeare, 
baffles  us  with  no  one  else.  It  is  easy  to  divine  the  opinions  of 
Aristophanes,  Moliere,  or  Schiller.  It  is  still  more  easy  to  divine 
the  opinions  of  Plato,  because,  unlike  the  dramatists,  he  selects 
his  dialogues  solely  with  a  view  to  the  illustration  of  his  opinions. 
Besides,  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  "  Socrates,"  in  the  Dia 
logues,  represents  Platonic  opinions  seen  through  the  manner  of 
Socrates.  And,  whatever  the  variations  may  be  with  respect  to 
subordinate  points,  we  find  but  one  Method  in  all  the  Dialogues, 
but  one  conception  of  science ;  in  a  word,  we  find  an  unmistak 
able  tendency,  which  we  pronounce  to  be  Platonic. 

Respecting  his  opinion  on  the  insufficiency  of  books  to  convey 
instruction,  we  may  first  quote  what  "  Socrates  "  says  on  the  sub 
ject  in  the  Phcedrus : 

"  Writing  is  something  like  painting ;  the  creatures  of  the  lat 
ter  art  look  very  like  living  beings ;  but,  if  you  ask  them  a  ques 
tion,  they  preserve  a  solemn  silence.  Written  discourses  do  the 
same :  you  would  fancy,  by  what  they  say,  that  they  had  some 
sense  in  them  ;  but,  if  you  wish  to  learn,  and  therefore  interro 
gate  them,  they  have  only  their  first  answer  to  return  to  all  ques- 


198 

tions.  And  when  the  discourse  is  once  written,  it  passes  from 
hand  to  hand,  among  all  sorts  of  persons,  those  who  can  under 
stand  it,  and  those  who  cannot.  It  is  not  able  to  tell  its  story 
to  those  only  to  whom  it  is  suitable  ;  and,  when  it  is  unjustly 
criticised,  it  always  needs  its  author  to  assist  it,  for  it  cannot  de 
fend  itself.  There  is  another  sort  of  discourse,  which  is  far  better 
and  more  potent  than  this. — What  is  it  ?  That  which  is  written 
scientifically  in  the  learner's  mind.  This  is  capable  of  defending 
itself,  and  it  can  speak  itself,  or  be  silent,  as  it  sees  fit. — You 
mean  the  real  and  living  discourse  of  the  person  who  understands 
the  subject ;  of  which  discourse  the  written  one  may  be  called 
the  picture  ?  Precisely. — Now,  think  you  that  a  sensible  hus 
bandman  would  take  seed  which  he  valued,  and  wishing  to  pro 
duce  a  harvest,  would  seriously,  after  the  summer  had  begun, 
scatter  it  in  the  gardens  of  Adonis,*  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  it 
spring  up  and  look  green  in  a  week  ?  Or  do  you  not  rather 
think  that  he  might  indeed  do  this  for  sport  and  amusement ; 
but,  when  his  purpose  was  serious,  would  employ  the  art  of  agri 
culture,  and,  sowing  the  seed  at  the  proper  time,  be  content  to 
gather  in  his  harvest  in  the  eighth  month  ?  The  last,  undoubt 
edly. — And  do  you  think  that  he  who  possesses  the  knowledge 
of  what  is  just,  and  noble,  and  good,  will  deal  less  prudently  with 
his  seeds  than  the  husbandman  with  his  ?  Certainly  not. — He 
will  not,  then,  set  about  sowing  them  with  a  pen  and  a  black 
liquid ;  or  (to  drop  the  metaphor)  scattering  these  truths  by  means 
of  discourses,  which  cannot  defend  themselves  against  attack,  and 
which  are  incapable  of  adequately  expounding  the  truth.  No 
doubt  he  will,  for  the  sake  of  sport,  occasionally  scatter  some  of 
the  seeds  in  this  manner,  and  will  thus  treasure  up  memoranda 
for  himself,  in  case  he  should  fall  into  the  forgetfuluess  of  old 
age,  and  for  all  others  who  follow  in  the  same  track ;  and  he  will 
be  pleased  when  he  sees  the  blade  growing  up  green."| 

Now,  this  remarkable  passage  is  clearly  biographical.     It  is  the 

*  "  The  gardens  of  Adonis,"  a  periphrasis  for  mignonette-boxes, 
t  Phccdrus,  p.  93. 


199 

justification  of  Socrates'  philosophical  career.  But  it  must  not 
be  too  rigorously  applied  to  Plato,  whose  voluminous  writings 
contradict  it ;  nor  must  we  suppose  that  those  writings  were  de 
signed  only  for  amusement,  or  as  memoranda  for  his  pupils.  The 
main  idea  of  this  passage  is  one  which  few  persons  would  feel 
disposed  to  question.  We  are  all  aware  that  books  labor  under 
very  serious  deficiencies;  they  cannot  replace  oral  instruction. 
The  frequent  misapprehensions  of  an  author's  meaning  would  in  a 
great  measure  be  obviated  if  we  had  him  by  our  side  to  interro 
gate  him.  And  oral  instruction  has  the  further  advantage  of  not 
allowing  the  reader's  mind  to  be  so  passive  as  it  is  with  a  book : 
the  teacher  by  his  questions  excites  the  activity  of  the  .pupil.  All 
this  may  reasonably  be  conceded  as  Plato's  opinion,  without  at 
all  affecting  the  serious  purpose  of  his  writings.  Plato  thought 
that  conversation  was  more  instructive  than  reading ;  but  he  knew 
that  reading  was  also  instructive,  and  he  wrote  :  to  obviate  as 
much  as  possible  the  necessary  inconveniences  of  written  dis 
course,  he  threw  all  his  works  into  the  form  of  dialogue.  Hence 
the  endless  repetitions,  divisions,  and  illustrations  of  positions  al 
most  self-evident.  The  reader  is  fatigued  by  them ;  but,  like 
Addison's  tediousness,  they  have  a  "  design  "  in  them  :  that  de 
sign  is,  by  imitating  conversation,  to  leave  no  position  unexplain 
ed.  As  a  book  cannot  be  interrogated,  Plato  makes  the  book 
anticipate  interrogations.  The  very  pains  he  takes  to  be  tedious, 
the  very  minuteness  of  his  details,  is  sufficient  to  rescue  his  works 
from  the  imputation  of  being  mere  amusements.  He  was  too 
great  an  artist  to  have  sacrificed  his  art  to  any  thing  but  his  con 
victions.  That  he  did  sacrifice  the  general  effect  to  his  scru 
pulous  dialectics,  no  one  can  doubt ;  and  we  believe  that  he  did 
so  for  the  sake  of  deeply  impressing  on  the  reader's  mind  the 
real  force  of  his  Method.  Had  the  critics  recognized  Plato's 
real  drift,  we  believe  they  would  have  spared  much  of  their  cen 
sure,  and  hesitated  before  pronouncing  against  the  genuineness 
of  certain  dialogues. 

Connected  with  Plato's  expressions  respecting  the  imperfection 


200 

of  written  works,  there  is  the  passage  in  Aristotle,  referring  to 
the  aypcupa  (Jo'^-aTa,  or  "  unwritten  opinions,"  which  is  supposed 
to  indicate  an  esoteric  doctrine.  If  Aristotle's  words  do  bear 
that  meaning,  then  is  the  opinion  consistent  and  valid,  which 
regards  the  exoteric  works — the  Dialogues — as  mere  divertise- 
ments.  Let  us  examine  it. 

Aristotle  says  that  Plato,  in  the  Timceus,  maintained  space 
and  matter  to  be  the  same,  but  that,  in  what  are  called  the  un 
written  opinions  (sv  rofc  XS^OJXSVQIJ  cfypa<poj£  £o^Aa<J'j),  he  consid 
ered  space  and  place  (TOV  TOTTOV  xa;v  <r^v  p^wpav)  to  be  the  same.* 
From  such  a  passage  it  is  surely  somewhat  gratuitous  to  conclude 
that  Plato  had  an  esoteric  doctrine.  The  co^poupa  tfoyfAcwa  proba 
bly  meant  his  lectures,  or,  as  Ritter  suggests,  notes  taken  from  the 
lectures  by  his  scholars.  At  any  rate,  there  is  no  ground  for 
supposing  them  to  have  been  esoterical  opinions  ;  the  more  so  as 
Aristotle,  his  most  illustrious  pupil,  never  speaks  of  any  such  dis 
tinct  doctrine,  but  draws  his  statements  of  Plato's  views  from 
published  works. 

We  are  convinced  that  the  Dialogues  contain  the  real  opinions 
of  Plato,  in  as  far  as  Plato  ventured  to  express  them.  We  make 
this  reservation  because  it  is  pretty  generally  known  that  in  the 
Socratic  philosophy  individual  opinions  were  not  of  so  much  im 
portance  as  Method.  It  would  perhaps  be  better  to  say,  therefore, 
that  the  Dialogues  exhibit  Plato's  real  Method  and  tendencies. 
Certain  it  is  that  the  Method  and  tendencies  can  only  rightly  be 
appreciated  after  a  survey  of  all  the  Dialogues.  The  ancients, 
we  are  told  by  Sextus  Empiricus,f  were  divided  amongst  them- 

*  Phys.  iv.  c.  2,  p.  53.  Eitter,  who  refers  to  but  does  not  cite  tlie  passage, 
gives  us  to  understand  that,  in  these  unwritten  opinions,  "  much  was  explain 
ed  differently,  or,  at  least,  more  definitely  than  in  the  Dialogues."  But  no  such 
conclusion  can  be  drawn  from  Aristotle.  There  is  no  greater  difference  al 
luded  to  in  the  passage  than  may  frequently  be  found  between  one  dialogue 
and  another.  If  the  written  (published)  opinions  differ,  surely  those  unwrit 
ten  may  be  allowed  also  to  differ  from  the  written  ?  If  the  Republic  differs 
from  the  Timceus^  surely  the  "unwritten  opinion"  may  differ  from  the 
Timceu-s. 

t  Pyrrhon.  Hypot.  i.  p.  44. 


201 

selves  as  to  whether  Plato  was  a  skeptic  or  a  dogmatist.  Nor 
was  the  dispute  irrational  :  for,  as  some  of  the  Dialogues  are  ex 
pository  and  dogmatical,  and  others  are  mere  exercises  of  the 
dialectical  method — mere  contests  in  which  nothing  is  definitive 
ly  settled — any  one  having  studied  only  one  class  of  these  Dia 
logues  would  think  Plato  either  a  skeptic  or  a  dogmatist,  accord 
ing  to  the  nature  of  those  which  he  had  read.  Thus  Cicero,  an 
ardent  admirer,  says,  "  Plato  affirms  nothing ;  but,  after  produc 
ing  many  arguments,  and  examining  a  question  on  every  side, 
leaves  it  undetermined."  This  is  true  of  such  dialogues  as  the 
Thecetetus,  or  the  Hippias  Major  ;  but  untrue  of  the  Phcedo, 
Timceus,  Laws,  etc. 

This  leads  us  to  a  consideration  of  the  various  attempts  at 
classifying  the  Dialogues.  That  some  sort  of  classification  should 
be  adopted  is  admitted  by  all ;  but  no  two  persons  seem  to  agree 
as  to  the  precise  arrangement.  Any  attempt  at  chronological  ar 
rangement  must  inevitably  fail.  Certain  dialogues  can  be  sat 
isfactorily  shown  to  have  been  written  subsequently  to  some 
others ;  but  any  regular  succession  is  beyond  our  ingenuity.  "We 
may  be  pretty  sure  that  the  Pkcedrus  was  the  earliest,*  or  one  of 
the  earliest,  and  the  Laws  the  latest.  We  may  be  sure  that  the 
Republic  was  earlier  than  the  Laws,  because  the  latter  is  a  ma- 
turer  view  of  politics.  But  when  the  Republic  was  written  baffles 
conjecture.  It  is  usually  placed  with  the  Timceus  and  the  Laivs  ; 
that  is  to  say,  with  the  last  products  of  its  author.  But  we  de 
mur  to  this  on  several  accounts.  The  differences  of  style  and  of 
ideas  observable  in  the  Republic  and  the  Laws,  imply  considera 
ble  distance  between  the  periods  of  composition.  Besides,  a  man 
not  writing  for  his  bread  does  not  so  soon  resume  a  subject  which 
he  has  already  treated  with  great  fulness.  Plato  had  uttered 
his  opinions  in  the  Republic.  He  must  have  waited  till  new  ideas 
were  developed,  before  he  could  be  tempted  again  to  write ;  for 

*  See  on  this  point  Mr.  Thompson's  note  to  Butlers  Lectures  on  Hist,  of 
Ancient  PhU.  ii.  p.  44. 

9* 


202 

observe,  both  these  dialogues  are  expository  and  dogmatical : 
they  express  Plato's  opinions ;  they  are  not  merely  dialectical  ex 
ercises. 

It  strikes  us  also  that  there  is  but  one  safe  principle  to  be  ap 
plied  to  the  testing  of  such  points.  Whenever  two  works  ex 
hibit  variations  of  opinion,  we  should  examine  the  nature  of  the 
variations  and  ask,  which  of  the  two  opinions  is  the  later  in  de 
velopment — which  must  have  been  the  earlier  ? 

Let  us  take  an  example.  In  the  Republic  (iii.  p.  123)  he  at 
tempts  to  prove  that  no  one  can  excel  in  two  arts;  that  the 
comic  poet  cannot  be  the  same  as  the  tragic,  the  same  actor  can 
not  act  in  tragedy  and  comedy  with  success.  In  the  Amatores 
(p.  289)  he  has  the  same  idea,  though  there  only  mentioned 
briefly.*  In  the  Symposium,  however,  Plato's  opinion  is  directly 
the  reverse ;  for,  in  a  celebrated  passage,  he  makes  Socrates  con 
vince  Agathon  that  the  tragic  and  comic  poet  are  the  same  per 
son.  Now,  it  is  not  difficult  to  decide  which  is  the  earlier  opin 
ion  :  in  the  Republic  it,  is  the  logical  consequence  of  his  premises; 
but  in  the  Symposium  that  opinion  is  corrected  by  experience, 
for  in  the  poets  of  his  own  day  Plato  found  both  tragedy  and 
comedy  united ;  and  as  Socrates  is  made  to  convince  Agathon, 
we  may  conclude  that  the  former  opinion  was  not  uncommon, 
and  that  Plato  here  makes  a  retractation.  No  one  will  deny 
that  the  former  opinion  is  superficial.  The  distinction  between 
tragedy  and  comedy  is  such  that  it  seems  to  imply  a  distinct  na 
ture  to  attain  excellence  in  each.  But  Euripides,  Shakspeare, 
Racine,  Cervantes,  Calderon,  and  many  others,  confute  this 
seeming  by  their  dramas. 

Perhaps  a  still  more  conclusive  example  is  that  of  the  "  crea- 


*  According  to  Hitter's  principle,  this  would  prove  the  Republic  to  be  later 
than  the  Amatores.  He  maintains,  and  with  plausibility,  that,  when  a  sub 
ject  which  has  been  developed  in  one  dialogue  is  briefly  assumed  in  another, 
the  latter  is  subsequent  in  composition.  (Eitter,  vol.  ii.  p.  183.)  Yet,  on 
this  principle  the  Phcedo  is  earlier  than  the  Phcudrus,  inasmuch  as  the  doc 
trine  of  reminiscence  is  developed  in  the  former  and  alluded  to  in  the  latter. 


203 

tion  of  Ideas,"  so  expressly  stated  in  the  Republic,  and  the  "  eter 
nity  and  uncreated  nature  of  Ideas,"  as  expressly  stated  in  the 
Timceus.  So  radical  a  difference  in  the  most  important  position 
of  his  philosophy,  would  at  once  separate  the  epochs  at  which 
the  two  dialogues  were  composed.  And  to  this  may  be  added 
the  difference  in  artistic  treatment  between  the  Republic  and  the 
Timceus.  The  former,  although  expository,  has  much  of  the  vi 
vacity  and  dramatic  vigor  of  the  early  dialogues.  The  Timceus 
and  the  Laws  have  scarcely  a  trace  of  art. 

Ritter  has  well  observed  that  "the  excellence  of  the  Platonic 
dialogues,  as  pieces  of  art,  is  twofold  : — the  rare  imitative  powers 
exhibited  in  the  dialogue,  and  the  acuteness  with  which  philo 
sophical  matters  are  dialectically  treated.  No  one  will  deny 
that  these  two  qualities  have  only  an  outward  connection,  and 
consequently  that  they  cannot  advance  equally.  With  the  phi 
losopher  the  latter  is  manifestly  the  more  important,  whereas  the 
former  is  of  secondary  importance.  The  degree  of  perfection 
therefore  in  any  dialogue,  as  such,  affords  at  most  a  very  uncer 
tain  means  for  the  determination  of  its  date ;  whereas  the  great 
est  weight  ought  to  be  laid  on  the  dialectical  skill."  In  propor 
tion  as  the  dialectical  skill  became  mature,  it  is  natural  to  sup 
pose  that  the  dramatic  imitation  was  less  cared  for.  In  propor 
tion  as  Plato  became  settled  in  his  convictions  he  became  anxious 
solely  for  their  clear  exposition.  He  began  life  with  a  love  of 
poetry ;  but  this  he  soon  abandoned  for  philosophy. 

The  whole  inquiry  may  seem  idle ;  but  until  something  like  a 
positive  arrangement  of  his  works  can  be  made,  there  will  be  no 
end  to  the  misconceptions  of  his  opinions  ;  for  it  is  preposterous 
to  cite  passages  in  support  of  a  doctrine,  before  having  ascer 
tained  the  date  of  the  work  whence  the  passages  are  drawn. 
Yet  this  is  the  way  critics  and  historians  draw  up  an  imaginary 
outline  of  Plato's  philosophy,  and  squabble  amongst  each  other 
as  to  who  is  right.  When  it  is  said  that  Plato  held  such  or  such 
an  opinion,  it  should  be  distinctly  understood  at  what  period  of 
his  career  he  held  it ;  because,  in  so  long  a  career,  and  with  so 


204 

many  changes  of  opinion,  it  is  necessary  to  be  precise.  For  our 
own  part  we  can  scarcely  name  a  single  opinion  held  by  him 
throughout  his  works.  Even  the  Socratic  idea  of  Virtue  being 
identical  with  Knowledge,  consequently  of  Vice  being  Ignorance, 
and  therefore  involuntary — even  this  idea  he  learned  in  his  old- 
age  to  repudiate,  as  we  see  in  the  Laws  (book  v.  p.  385),  where 
he  calls  incontinence,  no  less  than  ignorance  (vj  Si1  dju-ecduxv  ?}  bi> 
dxpotTEiav),  the  causes  of  vice.  In  the  same  sense  (book  iv.  p. 
138),  after  speaking  of  anger  and  pleasure  as  causes  of  error,  he 
says,  "  There  is  a  third  cause  of  our  faults,  and  that  is  ignorance" 
(TP/TOV  a^vojav  TWV  afjuxp<rx]fjKx<rwv  a/Viav).  So  that  here  he  places 
ignorance  only  as  a  third  cause ;  and  by  so  doing  destroys  the 
whole  Socratic  argument  respecting  the  identity  of  Virtue  and 
knowledge.* 

This  being  the  case,  it  will  readily  be  acknowledged,  that  to 
make  up  a  doctrine  from  passages  culled  here  and  there,  must 
inevitably  lead  into  error.  A  consistent  doctrine  cannot  be  made 
out.  Indeed  it  is  questionable  whether  Plato  ever  elaborated 
one.  Like  Socrates,  he  occupied  himself  with  Method  rather 
than  with  results ;  like  Socrates,  he  had  doubts  respecting  the 
certainty  of  knowledge  on  the  higher  subjects  of  thought ;  like 
Socrates,  he  sought  Truth,  without  professing  to  have  found  her. 

As  a  chronological  arrangement  has  been  impossible,  a  philo 
sophical  arrangement  has  frequently  been  attempted.  The  most 
celebrated  is  that  of  Schleiermacher,  who  divides  the  Dialogues 
into  three  classes : — "  1st.  Elementary  dialogues,  or  those  which 
contain  the  germs  of  all  that  follows, — of  logic  as  the  instrument 
of  philosophy,  and  of  ideas  as  its  proper  object ;  consequently, 
of  the  possibility  of  the  conditions  of  knowledge :  these  are  the 
Phcedrus,  Lysis,  Protagoras,  Laches,  Charmides,  Euthyphro, 

*  The  Meno  is  a  further  confirmation.  In  it  virtue  is  shown  to  be  unsus 
ceptible  of  being  taught;  ergo,  it  is  not  Knowledge.  This  would  make  the 
Meno  one  of  the  latest  works.  Neither  of  these  contradictions  has,  to  our 
knowledge,  been  noticed  before.  It  was  our  intention  to  insert  a  Chapter  on 
the  self-contradictions  of  Plato,  but  the  space  such  a  Chapter  must  have  oc 
cupied,  would  have  been  utterly  beyond  our  limits. 


PLATO'S  WRITINGS.  205 

and  Parmenides ;  to  which  he  subjoins,  as  an  appendix,  the 
Apologia,  Crito,  Ion,  Hippias  Minor,  Hipparchus,  Minos,  and 
Alcibiades  II.  2d.  Progressive  dialogues,  which  treat  of  the 
distinction  between  philosophical  and  common  knowledge  in 
their  united  application  to  the  two  proposed  and  real  sciences, 
Ethics  and  Physics :  these  are  the  Gorgias,  Thecetetus,  Meno, 
Euthydemus,  Cratylus,  Sophistes,  Politicus,  Symposium,  Phccdo, 
and  Philebus  ;  with  an  appendix  containing  the  Theages,  Ama- 
torcs,  Alcibiades  I.,  Menexemus,  Hippias  Major,  and  Clitophon. 
3d.  Constructive  dialogues,  in  which  the  practical  is  completely 
united  with  the  speculative ;  these  are  the  Republic,  Timceus, 
Critias,  with  an  appendix  containing  the  Laws  and  the  Epis 
tles?*  There  is  considerable  ingenuity  in  this ;  and  it  has  been 
adopted  by  Bekker  in  his  edition.  It  has  however  been  much 
criticised,  as  every  such  attempt  must  necessarily  be.  Van 
Heusde,  in  his  charming  work,f  has  suggested  another.  He  pro 
poses  three  classes :  1,  those  wherein  the  subject-matter  relates 
to  the  Beautiful ;  2,  those  wherein  it  relates  to  the  True ;  3, 
those  wherein  it  relates  to  the  Practical.  Of  the  first  are  those 
concerning  Love,  Beauty,  and  the  Soul.  Of  the  second,  those 
concerning  Dialectics,  Ideas,  Method ;  in  which  Truth  and  the 
means  of  attaining  it  are  sought.  Of  the  third,  those  concerning 
justice;  i.  e.  morals  and  politics.  These  three  classes  represent 
the  three  phases  of  the  philosophical  mind  :  the  desire  for  Truth, 
the  appreciation  of  Truth,  and  the  realization  of  it,  in  an  applica 
tion  to  human  life. 

There  is  one  great  objection  to  this  classification,  namely,  the 
impossibility  of  properly  arranging  the  Dialogues  under  the  sep 
arate  heads.  The  Phcedrus,  which  Van  Heusde  believes  devoted 
to  Love  and  Beauty,  Schleiermacher  has  clearly  shown  to  be  de 
voted  to  Dialectics.  So  of  the  rest :  Plato  mixes  up  in  one  dia 
logue  very  opposite  subjects.  Van  Heusde  is  also  under  the  er- 


*  Penny  Cyclopaedia,  Art.  Plato,  p.  236. 
t  Initia  Philosophic  Platonicce,  i.  p.  72. 


206 

roneous  conviction  of  Plato's  having  been  only  a  Socratist  till  lie 
went  to  Megara,  where  he  became  imbued  with  the  Eleatic  doc 
trines  ;  and  that  it  was  in  his  maturer  age  that  he  became  ac 
quainted  with  the  Pythagorean  philosophy. 

It  may  be  presumptuous  to  suggest  a  new  classification,  yet  it 
is  difficult  to  resist  the  temptation.  It  seems  to  us  that  the  Dia 
logues  may  reasonably  be  divided  into  the  two  classes  named  by 
Sextus  Empiricus : — Dogmatic  and  Agonistic,  or  Expository  and 
Polemical.  The  advantage  of  this  division  is  its  clearness  and 
practicability.  There  will  always  be  something  arbitrary  in  the 
endeavor  to  classify  the  dialogues  according  to  their  subject- 
matter,  because  they  are  almost  all  occupied  with  more  than  one 
subject.  Thus  the  Republic  would  certainly  be  classed  under 
the  head  of  Ethics ;  yet  it  contains  very  important  discussions 
on  the  nature  of  human  knowledge,  and  on  the  theory  of  Ideas ; 
and  these  discussions  ought  properly  to  be  classed  under  the 
head  of  Metaphysics.  Again,  the  Pliazdrus  is  more  than  half 
occupied  with  discourses  about  Love ;  but  the  real  subject  of  the 
work  is  Dialectics. 

In  the  division  we  propose,  such  inconveniences  are  avoided. 
It  is  easy  to  see  which  dialogues  are  polemical  and  which  are 
expository.  The  Hippias  Major  and  the  Timceus  may  stand  as 
representatives  of  each  class.  In  the  former  no  attempt  is  made 
to  settle  the  question  raised.  Socrates  contents  himself  with  re 
futing  every  position  of  his  antagonist.  In  the  Timceus  there  is 
no  polemic  of  any  sort :  all  is  calmly  expository. 

A  further  subdivision  might  also  be  made  of  the  agonistic 
dialogues,  into  such  as  are  purely  polemical  and  such  as  by 
means  of  polemics  enforce  ideas.  Sometimes  Plato  only  de 
stroys  ;  at  other  times  the  destruction  is  a  clearance  of  the 
ground,  which  opens  to  us  a  vista  of  the  truth  :  of  this  kind  is 
the  Thecetetus. 

We  are  however  firmly  persuaded  that  one  distinct  purpose 
runs  through  all  the  Dialogues,  whatever  may  be  their  varieties 
of  form  or  of  opinion  ;  one  great  and  fruitful  purpose  which  may 


PLATO'S    METHOD.  207 

rightly  be  called  the  philosophy  of  Plato,  and  which  we  will  now 
attempt  to  exhibit. 

§  III.  PLATO'S  METHOD. 

By  some,  Plato  is  regarded  as  the  mere  literary  exponent  of 
the  Socratic  doctrines;  by  others,  as  the  real  founder  of  a  new 
epoch  and  of  a  new  philosophy.  Both  of  these  views  appear  to 
us  questionable  ;  but  on  the  subject  of  Plato,  errors  are  so  numer 
ous,  and  we  had  almost  said  so  inevitable,  that  no  one  who 
rightly  appreciates  the  difficulty  of  ascertaining  the  truth,  will 
be  disposed  to  dogmatize.  Although  we  claim  the  right  of  en 
forcing  our  opinions — a  right  purchased  with  no  contemptible 
amount  of  labor  in  the  inquiry — we  would  be  distinctly  under 
stood  to  place  no  very  great  confidence  in  their  validity.  After 
this  preface,  we  trust,  we  may  speak  openly  without  incurring 
the  charge  of  dogmatism,  when  simply  recording  the  results  of 
study.* 

Plato  we  hold  to  be  neither  a  simple  Socratist,  nor  the  creator 
of  a  new  philosophy.  He  was  the  inheritor  of  all  the  wisdom  of 
his  age.  He  fully  seized  the  importance  of  the  Socratic  Method  ; 
he  adopted  it,  enlarged  it.  But  he  also  saw  the  importance  of 
those  ideas  which  his  predecessors  had  so  laboriously  excogitated; 
he  adopted  and  enlarged  the  leading  features  of  the  Pythagore 
ans  and  the  Eleatics,  of  Anaxagoras  and  Heraclitus.  With  vast 
learning  and  a  puissant  Method,  he  created  an  influence  which  is 
not  yet  totally  extinct.  But  his  philosophy  was  critical,  not  dog 
matical.  He  enlarged,  ameliorated  the  views  of  others,  intro 
ducing  little  that  was  new  into  the  philosophy  of  his  age.  He 
was  the  culminating  point  of  Greek  philosophy.  In  his  works 

*  It  has  been  a  principle  with  us  throughout,  to  abstain  from  all  un 
necessary  references.  The  absence  of  such  references  renders  it  the  more 
needful  for  us  to  state  that,  previous  to  writing  this  Section,  we  renewed 
our  acquaintance  with  Plato  by  carefully  reading  all  his  works,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  two  of  the  minor  ones.  (Since  the  first  edition  of  this  work  a 
complete  translation  of  Plato  has  appeared,  so  that  the  English  reader  has 
now  the  means  of  testing  the  validity  of  our  conclusions.) 


208 

all  the  various  and  conflicting  tendencies  of  preceding  eras  were 
collected  under  one  Method. 

That  Method  was  doubtless  the  Method  of  Socrates,  with  some 
modifications,  or  rather  with  some  enlargement.  Schleierrnacher, 
in  a  profound  and  luminous  essay  on  the  Worth  of  Socrates  as  a 
Philosopher,*  looks  upon  the  service  rendered  to  Philosophy  by 
Socrates  as  consisting  less  in  the  truths  arrived  at,  than  in  the 
mode  in  which  truth  should  be  sought.  Alluding  to  this  view, 
John  Mill  has  said,  "  This  appears  to  us  to  be,  with  some  modi 
fications,  applicable  likewise  to  Plato.  No  doubt  the  disciple 
pushed  his  mere  inquiries  and  S2^eculations  over  a  more  extended 
surface,  and  to  a  much  greater  depth  below  the  surface,  than 
there  is  any  reason  to  believe  the  master  did.  But,  though  he 
continually  starts  most  original  and  valuable  ideas,  it  is  seldom 
that  these,  when  they  relate  to  the  results  of  inquiry,  are  stated 
with  an  air  of  conviction,  as  if  they  amounted  to  fixed  opinions. 
But,  when  the  topic  under  consideration  is  the  proper  mode  of 
philosophizing — either  the  moral  spirit  in  which  truth  should  be 
sought,  or  the  intellectual  processes  and  methods  by  which  it  is 
to  be  attained ;  or  when  the  subject-matter  is  not  any  particular 
scientific  principle,  but  knowledge  in  the  abstract,  the  differences 
between  knowledge  and  ignorance,  and  between  knowledge  and 
mere  opinion — then  the  views  inculcated  are  definite  and  consist 
ent,  are  always  the  same,  and  are  put  forth  with  the  appearance 
of  earnest  and  matured  belief.  Even  in  treating  of  other  subjects, 
and  even  when  the  opinions  advanced  have  the  least  semblance 
of  being  seriously  entertained,  the  discourse  itself  has  generally  a 
very  strong  tendency  to  illustrate  the  conception,  which  does 
seem  to  be  really  entertained,  of  the  nature  of  some  part  or  other 
of  the  process  of  philosophizing.  The  inference  we  would  draw 
is,  that  on  the  science  of  the  Investigation  of  Science,  the  theory 
of  the  pursuit  of  truth,  Plato  had  not  only  satisfied  himself  that 


*  Translated  by  Bishop  Thirlwall,  in  the  Philological  Museum,  and  re 
printed  in  the  English  version  of  Dr.  Wigger's  Life  of  Socrates. 


PLATO'S  METHOD.  209 

his  predecessors  were  in  error,  and  how,  but  had  also  adopted 
definite  views  of  his  own  ;  while  on  all  or  most  other  subjects  he 
contented  himself  with  confuting  the  absurdities  of  others,  point 
ing  out  the  proper  course  for  inquiry,  and  the  spirit  in  which  it 
should  be  conducted,  and  throwing  out  a  variety  of  ideas  of  his 
own,  of  the  value  of  which  he  was  not  quite  certain,  and  which 
he  left  to  the  appreciation  of  any  subsequent  inquirer  competent 
to  sit  in  judgment  upon  them." 

We  have  here  to  examine  what  that  Method  was  which  Plato 
constantly  pursued.  Socrates,  as  we  have  shown,  relied  upon 
the  Inductive  or  Analogical  Reasoning,  and  on  Definitions,  as 
the  two  principles  of  investigation.  The  incompleteness  of  these 
principles  we  have  already  pointed  out ;  and  Plato  himself  found 
it  necessary  to  enlarge  them. 

Definitions  form  the  basis  of  all  Philosophy.  To  know  a  thing 
you  must  also  know  what  it  is  not.  In  ascertaining  the  real  De 
finition,  Socrates  employed  his  accoucheur's  art  (TS'^V?]  ^CUSUTJXTJ), 
and  proceeded  inductively.  Plato  also  used  these  arts ;  but  he 
added  to  them  the  more  efficient  processes  of  Analysis  and  Syn 
thesis,  of  generalization  and  classification.* 

Analysis,  which  was  first  insisted  on  by  Plato  as  a  philosophic 
process,  is  the  decomposition  of  the  whole  into  its  separate  parts ; 
whereby,  after  examining  those  parts  attentively,  the  idea  of  the 
whole  is  correctly  ascertained.  To  use  Platonic  language,  Anal 
ysis  is  seeing  the  One  in  the  Many.  Thus,  if  the  subject  be 
Virtue,  the  general  term  Virtue  must  first  be  decomposed  into 
all  its  parts,  i.  e.  into  all  the  Virtues;  and  from  a  thorough 
examination  of  the  Virtues  a  clear  idea  of  Virtue  may  be  at- 
tained.f 

Definitions  were  to  Plato  what  general  or  abstract  ideas  were 
to  later  metaphysicians.  The  individual  thing  was  held  to  be 
transitory  and  phenomenal,  the  abstract  idea  was  eternal.  Only 

*  Consult  Van  Heusde,  Littia  Philosophy  Platonicce,  ii.  parts  ii.  97,  98. 
t  A  good  example  of  his  mode  of  conducting  an  inquiry  may  be  seen 
in  tlie  Gorgiasi 


210 

concerning  the  latter  could  philosophy  occupy  itself.  But  Soc 
rates,  although  insisting  on  proper  Definitions,  had  no  conception 
of  the  classification  of  those  Definitions  which  must  constitute 
philosophy.  Plato,  therefore,  by  the  introduction  of  this  process, 
shifted  philosophy  from  the  ground  of  inquiries  into  man  and 
society  to  that  of  Dialectics.  What  was  Dialectics  ?  It  was  the 
art  of  discoursing,  i.  e.  the  art  of  thinking,  i.  e.  logic.  Plato  uses 
the  word  Dialectics,  because  with  him  Thinking  was  a  silent  dis 
course  of  the  soul,  and  differed  from  speech  only  in  being  silent. 
In  this  conception  of  Philosophy  as  Dialectics,  Plato  absorbed 
the  conversational  method  of  Socrates,  but  gave  it  a  new  direc 
tion. 

How  erroneous  the  notion  is  which  supposes  that  Plato's  merit 
was  exclusively  literary,  may  be  gathered  from  the  above  brief 
outline  of  his  Method.  He  was  pre-eminently  a  severe  Dialecti 
cian.  This  is  his  leading  peculiarity ;  but  he  has  clothed  his 
method  in  such  attractive  forms  that  the  means  have  been  mis 
taken  for  the  end.  His  great  dogma,  like  that  of  his  master, 
Socrates,  was  the  necessity  of  an  untiring  investigation  into  gen 
eral  terms  (or  abstract  ideas).  He  did  not  look  on  life  with  the 
temporary  interest  of  a  passing  inhabitant  of  the  world.  He 
looked  on  it  as  an  immortal  soul  longing  to  be  released  from  its 
earthly  prison,  and  striving  to  catch  by  anticipation  some  faint 
glimpses  of  that  region  of  eternal  Truth  where  it  would  some  day 
rest.  The  fleeting  phenomena  of  this  world  he  knew  were  noth 
ing  more  ;  but  he  was  too  wise  to  overlook  them.  Fleeting  and 
imperfect  as  they  were,  they  were  the  indications  of  that  eternal 
Truth  for  which  he  longed,  footmarks  on  the  perilous  journey, 
and  guides  unto  the  wished-for  goal.  Long  before  him  wise  and 
meditative  men  perceived  that  sense-knowledge  would  only  be 
knowledge  of  phenomena;  that  every  thing  men  call  Existence 
was  but  a  perpetual  flux — a  something  which,  always  becoming, 
never  was ;  that  the  reports  which  our  senses  made  of  these 
things  partook  of  the  same  fleeting  and  uncertain  character. 
He  could  not,  therefore,  put  his  trust  in  them ;  he  could  not 


211 

believe  that  Time  was  any  thing  more  than  the  wavering  image 
of  Eternity. 

But  he  was  not  a  Skeptic.  These  transitory  phenomena 
were  not  true  existences;  but  they  were  images  of  true  ex 
istences.  Interrogate  them ;  classify  them  ;  discover  what  qual 
ities  they  have  in  common ;  discover  that  which  is  invariable, 
necessary,  amidst  all  that  is  variable,  contingent ;  discover  The 
One  in  The  Many,  and  you  have  penetrated  the  secret  of  Ex 
istence.* 

Now  in  reducing  this  Platonic  language  to  a  modern  formula, 
what  is  the  thought  ?  The  thought  is  simply  this  :  Things  exist 
as  classes  and  as  individuals.  These  classes  are  but  species  of 
higher  classes ;  e.  g.  men  are  individuals  of  the  class  Man,  and 
Man  is  a  species  of  the  class  Animal.  But  Philosophy,  which  is 
deductive,  has  nothing  to  do  with  individuals ;  it  is  occupied 
solely  with  classes.  General  Terms,  or  abstract  ideas,  are  there 
fore  the  materials  with  which  Philosophy  works. 

These  General  Terms,  Plato  said,  stood  for  the  only  real  Exist 
ences,  the  only  objects  of  Philosophy.  And  as  far  as  expression 
is  concerned,  he  would  seem  to  be  in  perfect  accordance  with 
modern  thinkers.  But  we  must  be  cautious  how  we  mistake 
these  coincidences  of  expression  for  coincidences  of  doctrine. 
Plato's  philosophy  was  an  inarticulate  utterance,  curious  to  the 
historian,  but  valueless  as  a  solution  of  the  problem. 

We  are  here  led  to  the  origin  of  the  world-famous  dispute  of 
Realism  and  Nominalism,  which  may  be  summed  up  in  a  sen 
tence.  The  Realists  maintain,  that  every  General  Term  (or  Ab 
stract  idea),  such  as  Man,  Virtue,  etc.,  has  a  real  and  independ 
ent  existence,  quite  irrespective  of  any  concrete  individual  deter 
mination,  such  as  Smith,  Benevolence,  etc.  The  Nominalists,  on 
the  contrary,  maintain,  that  all  General  Terms  are  but  the  crea- 

*  To  refer  the  reader  to  particular  passages  wherein  this  doctrine  is  ex 
pressed,  or  implied,  would  be  endless :  it  runs  through  all  his  works,  and 
is  the  only  constant  doctrine  to  be  found  there.  Perhaps  the  easiest  passage 
where  it  may  be  read  is  Philebus,  p.  233-6. 


212 

tions  of  the  mind,  designating  no  distinct  entities,  being  merely 
used  as  marks  of  aggregate  conceptions. 

In  Realism,  Plato  separated  himself  from  his  master  Socrates. 
On  this  point  we  have  the  indubitable,  but  hitherto  little  noticed, 
testimony  of  Aristotle,  who,  after  speaking  of  the  Socratic 
Method  of  Induction  and  Definition,  says  : — "  But  Socrates  gave 
neither  to  General  Terms  nor  to  Definitions  a  distinct  existence."* 
This  is  plain  enough.  Aristotle,  in  continuation,  obviously  speaks 
of  Plato : — "  Those  who  succeeded  him  gave  to  these  General 
Terms  a  separate  existence,  and  called  them  Ideas" 

Thus  we  are  introduced  to  Plato's  famous  Ideal  theory  ;  which, 
although  confused  and  contradictory  enough  in  detail,  as  is  the 
case  with  all  his  special  opinions,  is  clear  enough  in  its  general 
tendency. 

§  IV.  PLATO'S  IDEAL  THEORY. 

The  word  Idea  has  undergone  more  changes  than  almost  any 
word  in  philosophy ;  and  nothing  can  well  be  more  opposed  to 
the  modern  sense  of  the  word  than  the  sense  affixed  to  it  by 
Plato.  If  we  were  to  say,  that  Ideas  were  tantamount  to  the 
Substantial  Forms  of  the  schoolmen,  we  should  run  the  risk  of 
endeavoring  to  enlighten  an  obscurity  by  an  obscurity  no  less 
opaque.  If  we  were  to  say,  that  the  Ideas  were  tantamount  to 
Universal,  the  same  objection  might  be  raised.  If  we  were  to 
say,  that  the  Ideas  were  General  Terms  or  Abstract  Ideas,  we 
should  mislead  every  Nominalist  into  the  belief  that  Plato  was 
an  "  Idealist ;"  otherwise  the  last  explanation  would  be  pertinent. 

It  will  be  better,  however,  to  describe  first,  and  to  define  after 
wards.  Plato,  according  to  Aristotle,  gave  to  General  Terms  a 
distinct  existence,  and  called  them  Ideas.  He  became  a  Realist ; 

*  Met.  xiii.  4,  'AAA'  6  niv  £w*par»7f  T%  Ka06\ov  ov  'x^piara  tiroici,  ov&i  rous 
bpicpovs. — The  wording  of  this  may  appear  strange.  Many  have  supposed 
universals  to  exist  separately  ;  but  how  a  separate  existence  could  be  given 
to  Definitions  may  puzzle  the  stoutest  Realist.  "VVe  believe  the  difficulty 
vanishes,  if  we  remember  that  the  Platonic  Definitions  and  Universals  were 
the  same  things;  Aristotle's  phrase  is,  however,  ambiguous. 


213 

and  asserted,  that  there  was  the  Abstract  Man  no  less  than  the 
Concrete  Men  ;  the  latter  were  Men  only  in  as  far  as  they  par 
ticipated  in  the  Ideal  Man.  ISTo  one  will  dispute  that  we  have  a 
conception  of  a  genus — that  we  do  conceive  and  reason  about 
Man  quite  independently  of  Smith  or  Brown,  Peter  or  Paul.  If 
we  have  such  a  conception,  whence  did  we  derive  it  ?  Our  ex 
perience  has  only  been  of  the  Smiths  and  Browns,  the  Peters 
and  Pauls ;  we  have  only  known  men.  Our  senses  tell  us  noth 
ing  of  Man.  Individual  objects  only  give  individual  knowledge. 
A  number  of  stones  placed  before  us  will  afford  us  no  knowledge, 
will  not  enable  us  to  say,  These  are  stones ;  unless  we  have  pre 
viously  learned  what  is  the  nature  of  Stone.  So,  also,  we  must 
know  the  nature  of  Man,  before  we  can  know  that  Jones  and 
Brown  are  Men.  We  do  know  Man,  and  we  know  Men ;  but 
our  knowledge  of  the  former  is  distinct  from  that  of  the  latter, 
and  must  have  a  distinct  source ;  so,  at  least,  thought  the  Real- 
ists.  What  is  that  source  ?  Reflection,  not  sense. 

The  Realists  finding  The  One  in  The  Many, — in  other  words, 
finding  certain  characteristics  common  to  all  Men,  and  not  only 
common  to  them  but  necessary  to  their  being  Men, — abstracted 
these  general  characteristics  from  the  particular  accidents  of 
individual  men,  and  out  of  these  characteristics  made  what  they 
called  Universals  (what  we  call  genera).  These  Universals  ex 
isted  per  se.  They  are  not  only  conceptions  of  the  mind ;  they 
are  entities;  and  our  perceptions  of  them  are  formed  in  the 
same  manner  as  our  perceptions  of  other  things. 

Greek  Philosophy,  no  less  than  Greek  Art,  was  eminently  Ob 
jective.  Now  what  is  the  objective  tendency,  but  the  tendency 
to  transform  our  conceptions  into  perceptions — to  project  our 
ideas  out  of  us,  and  then  to  look  at  them  as  images,  or  as  enti 
ties  ?  Let  then  the  conception  of  genera  be  rendered  objective, 
and  the  Realist  doctrine  is  explained.  Our  conceptions  were  held 
by  Realism  to  be  perceptions  of  existing  Things ;  these  Plato 
called  Ideas,  which  he  maintained  to  be  the  only  real  existences ; 
they  were  the  noumena  of  which  all  individual  things  were  the 


214 

phenomena.  If  then  we  define  the  Platonic  "Idea,"  to  be  a 
"  Noumenon,"  or  "  Substantial  Form,"  we  shall  not  be  far  wrong  : 
and  most  of  the  disputes  respecting  the  real  meaning  of  the  term 
will  be  set  aside ;  for  example,  fitter's  wavering  account  of  the 
word — in  which  he  is  at  a  loss  to  say  whether  Idea  means  the 
universal,  or  whether  it  does  not  also  mean  the  individual. 
That  Plato  usually  designates  a  General  Term  by  the  word  Idea, 
there  can  be  no  doubt ;  there  can  be  no  doubt  also  that  he  some 
times  designates  the  essence  of  some  individual  thing  an  Idea,  as 
in  the  Republic,  where  he  speaks  of  the  Idea  of  a  Table  from 
which  all  other  Tables  were  formed.  There  is  no  contradiction 
in  this : — a  general  form  is  as  necessary  for  Tables  as  for  Men  : 
this  Idea,  therefore,  equally  partakes  of  generality,  even  where 
exemplified  by  particular  things. 

We  must  now  endeavor  to  indicate  the  position  occupied  by 
Ideas  in  the  Platonic  cosmology.  To  Socrates  Plato  was  in 
debted  for  his  Method ;  yet  not  wholly  indebted,  seeing  that  he 
enlarged  the  conception  transmitted  to  him.  To  Pythagoras  he 
was  indebted  for  his  theory  of  Ideas ;  yet  not  wholly  indebted, 
seeing  that  he  modified  it  and  rendered  it  more  plausible.  What 
he  did  for  Method  we  have  seen :  let  us  now  see  how  he  trans 
formed  the  Pythagorean  doctrine. 

Aristotle,  in  a  memorable  passage,  says; — "Plato  followed 
Socrates  respecting  definitions,  but,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  in 
quiries  into  universals  (dia.  <ro  ^rrtfau  tfspi  TOJV  xa^oXou),  he  sup 
posed  that  definitions  should  be  those  of  intettigiUes  (i.  e.  nou- 
mena),  rather  than  of  sensibles  (i.  e.  phenomena)  :  for  it  is  impos 
sible  to  give  a  general  definition  to  sensible  objects,  which  are 
always  changing.  Those  Intelligible  Essences  he  called  Ideas  ; 
adding  that  sensible  objects  were  different  from  Ideas,  and  re 
ceived  from  them  their  names ;  for  it  is  in  consequence  of  their 
participation  (xara,  jxs'^^jv)  in  Ideas,  that  all  objects  of  the  same 
genus  receive  the  same  name  as  the  Ideas.  He  introduced  the 
word  participation.  The  Pythagoreans  say,  that  '  Things  are 


215 

the  copies  of  Numbers.'  Plato  says, '  the  participation  ;'  he  only 
changes  the  name."* 

With  due  submission,  we  venture  to  question  the  assertion  of 
Aristotle  in  the  last  sentence.  Plato  did  more  than  change  a 
name.  The  conception  alone  of  Ideas,  as  generical  types,  is  a 
great  advance  on  the  conception  of  Numbers.  But  Plato  did 
not  stop  here.  He  ventured  on  an  explanation  of  the  nature  and 
the  degree  of  that  participation  of  sensible  objects  in  Ideas. 
And  Aristotle  himself,  in  another  place,  points  out  a  fundamen 
tal  distinction.  "Plato  thought  that  sensible  Things  no  less 
than  their  causes  were  Numbers ;  but  the  causes  are  IntelligiUes 
(L  e.  Ideas),  and  other  things  Sensibles"\  Surely  this  is  some 
thing  more  than  the  invention  of  a  name !  It  gives  a  new  char 
acter  to  the  theory ;  it  renders  it  at  once  more  clear,  and  more 
applicable. 

The  greatest  difficulty  felt  in  the  Ideal  theory  is  that  of  parti 
cipation.  How,  and  in  how  far,  does  this  participation  take 
place  ?  A  question  which  Plato  did  not,  and  could  not,  solve. 
All  that  he  could  answer  was,  that  human  knowledge  is  necessa 
rily  imperfect,  that  sensation  troubles  the  intellectual  eye,  and 
only  when  the  soul  is  free  from  the  hindrances  of  the  body  shall 
we  be  able  to  discern  things  in  all  the  ineffable  splendor  of  truth. 
But,  although  our  knowledge  is  imperfect,  it  is  not  false.  Rea 
son  enables  us  to  catch  some  glimpses  of  the  truth,  and  we  must 
endeavor  to  gain  more.  Whatever  is  the  object  of  the  soul's 
thought,  purely  as  such,  is  real  and  true.  The  problem  is  to 
separate  these  glimpses  of  the  truth  from  the  prejudices  and 
errors  of  mere  opinion. 

In  this  doctrine,  opinion  is  concerned  only  with  Appearances 
(phenomena) ;  philosophy,  with  Existence.  Our  sensation,  judg 
ments,  opinions,  have  only  reference  to  rot  ^J^VGJXSVO, ;  our  philo 
sophic  conceptions  have  reference  to  ra  6'vra.  The  whole  matter 

*  Metapli.  i.  6.          f  Ib.  i.  7,  'AAAaroiK  /ui/  VOTJTOVS  amouj,  ro<5rouj(5f  aladijrovs. 


216 

is  comprised  in  Plato's  answer  to  Diogenes,  who  thought  he  de 
molished  the  theory  of  Ideas  by  exclaiming,  "I  see  indeed  a 
table ;  but  I  see  no  Idea  of  a  table."  Plato  replied,  "  Because 
you  see  with  your  eyes,  and  not  with  your  reason."  Hence  at 
the  close  of  the  oth  Book  of  his  Republic,  he  says  that  those 
only  are  to  be  called  Philosophers  who  devote  themselves  to  the 
contemplation  of  TO  o'v,  i.  e.  Existence. 

The  phenomena  which  constitute  what  we  perceive  of  the 
world  (i.  e.  the  world  of  sense)  are  but  the  resemblances  of  matter 
to  Ideas.  In  other  words,  Ideas  are  the  Forms  of  which  ma 
terial  Things  are  copies;  the  noumcna,  of  which  all  that  we 
perceive  are  the  Appearances  (phenomena).  But  we  must  not 
suppose  these  copies  to  be  exact ;  they  do  not  at  all  participate 
in  the  nature  of  their  models ;  they  do  not  even  represent  them, 
otherwise  than  in  a  superficial  manner.  Or  perhaps  it  would  be 
more  correct  to  say,  that  Ideas  do  not  resemble  Things ;  the  man 
does  not  resemble  his  portrait,  although  the  portrait  may  be  a 
tolerable  resemblance  of  him ;  a  resemblance  of  his  aspect,  not  of 
his  nature.  If,  then,  the  Ideas  as  they  exist  realized  in  Nature, 
do  not  accurately  resemble  the  Ideas  as  they  exist  per  se — i.  e. 
if  the  phenomena  are  not  exact  copies  of  the  noumena — how  are 
we  ever  to  attain  a  knowledge  of  Ideas  and  of  Truth  ?  This 
question  plunges  us  into  the  midst  of  his  psychology,  which  we 
must  first  explain  before  the  whole  conception  of  the  Ideal  theo 
ry  can  be  made  consistent. 

§  V.  PLATO'S  PSYCHOLOGY. 

After  the  dreary  dialectics  of  the  two  preceding  Sections,  it  is 
some  refreshment  to  be  able  to  open  this  Section  with  a  myth, 
and  that  perhaps  the  most  fascinating  of  all  Plato's  myths. 

In  the  Phwdrus  Socrates  very  justly  declares  his  inability  to 
explain  the  real  nature  of  the  soul.  But  though  he  cannot  ex 
hibit  it,  he  can  show  what  it  resembles.  Unable  to  give  a  de 
monstration,  he  can  paint  a  picture ;  and  that  picture  he  paints 
as  follows : 


217 

"  We  may  compare  it  to  a  chariot,  with  a  pair  of  winged  horses 
and  a  driver.  In  the  souls  of  the  Gods,  the  horses  and  the  driv 
ers  are  entirely  good :  in  other  souls  only  partially  so,  one  of  the 
horses  excellent,  the  other  vicious.  The  business,  therefore,  of  the 
driver  is  extremely  difficult  and  troublesome. 

"Let  us  now  attempt  to  show  how  some  living  beings  came 
to  be  spoken  of  as  mortal,  and  others  as  immortal.  All  souls  are 
employed  in  taking  care  of  the  things  which  are  inanimate ;  and 
travel  about  the  whole  of  heaven  in  various  forms.  Now,  when  the 
soul  is  perfect,  and  has  wings,  it  is  carried  aloft,  and  helps  to  ad 
minister  the  entire  universe ;  but  the  soul  which  loses  its  wings, 
drops  down  till  it  catches  hold  of  something  solid,  in  which  it 
takes  up  its  residence ;  and,  having  a  dwelling  of  clay,  which 
seems  to  be  self-moving  on  account  of  the  soul  which  is  in  it,  the 
two  together  are  called  an  animal,  and  mortal.  The  phrase  '  im 
mortal  animal'  arises  not  from  any  correct  understanding,  but 
from  a  fiction  :  never  having  seen,  nor  being  able  to  comprehend, 
a  deity,  men  conceived  an  immortal  being,  having  a  body  as  well 
as  a  soul,  united  together  for  all  eternity.  Let  these  things, 
then,  be  as  it  pleases  God ;  but  let  us  next  state  from  what  cause 
a  soul  becomes  unfledged. 

"  It  is  the  nature  of  wings  to  lift  up  heavy  bodies  towards  the 
habitation  of  the  Gods ;  and,  of  all  things  which  belong  to  the 
body,  wings  are  that  which  most  partakes  of  the  divine.  The 
divine  includes  the  beautiful,  the  wise,  the  good,  and  every  thing 
of  that  nature.  By  these  the  wings  of  the  soul  are  nourished 
and  increased ;  by  the  contraries  of  these,  they  are  destroyed. 

"Jupiter,  and  the  other  Gods,  divided  into  certain  bands, 
travel  about  in  their  winged  chariots,  ordering  and  attending  to 
all  things,  each  according  to  his  appointed  function  ;  and  all  who 
will,  and  who  can,  follow  them.  When  they  go  to  take  their 
repasts,  they  journey  towards  the  summit  of  the  vault  of  heaven. 
The  chariots  of  the  Gods,  being  in  exact  equilibrium,  and  there 
fore  easily  guided,  perform  this  journey  easily,  but  all  others  with 
difficulty ;  for  one  of  the  two  horses,  being  of  inferior  nature, 

10 


218 

when  he  has  not  been  exceedingly  well  trained  by  the  driver, 
weighs  down  the  vehicle,  and  impels  it  towards  the  earth. 

"  The  souls  which  are  called  immortal  (viz.  the  Gods),  when 
they  reach  the  summit,  go  through,  and,  standing  upon  the  con 
vex  outside  of  heaven,  are  carried  round  and  round  by  its  revo 
lution,  and  see  the  things  which  lie  beyond  the  heavens.  No 
poet  has  ever  celebrated  these  supercelestial  things,  nor  ever  will 
celebrate  them,  as  they  deserve.  This  region  is  the  seat  of  Ex 
istence  itself:  Real  Existence,  colorless,  figureless,  and  intangible 
Existence,  which  is  visible  only  to  Mind,  the  charioteer  of  the 
soul,  and  which  forms  the  subject  of  Real  Knowledge.  The 
minds  of  the  Gods,  which  are  fed  by  pure  knowledge,  and  all 
other  thoroughly  well-ordered  minds,  contemplate  for  a  time  this 
universe  of  'Being'  per  se,  and  are  delighted  and  nourished  by 
the  contemplation,  until  the  revolution  of  the  heavens  brings  them 
back  again  to  the  same  point.  In  this  circumvolution,  they  con 
template  Justice  itself,  Temperance  itself,  and  Knowledge ;  not 
that  knowledge  which  has  a  generation  or  a  beginning,  not  that 
which  exists  in  a  subject  which  is  any  of  what  we  term  beings, 
but  that  Knowledge  which  exists  in  Being  in  general ;  in  that 
which  really  Is.  After  thus  contemplating  all  real  existences, 
and  being  nourished  thereby,  these  souls  again  sink  into  the  in 
terior  of  the  heavens,  and  repose. 

"  Such  is  the  life  of  the  Gods.  Of  other  souls,  those  which  best 
follow  the  Gods,  and  most  resemble  them,  barely  succeed  in  lifting 
the, head  of  the  charioteer  into  the  parts  beyond  the  heavens, 
and,  being  carried  round  by  the  circumvolution,  are  enabled 
with  difficulty  to  contemplate  this  universe  of  Self-Existence. 
Others,  being  encumbered  by  the  horses,  sometimes  rising  and 
sometimes  sinking,  are  enabled  to  see  some  Existences  only.  The 
remainder  only  struggle  to  elevate  themselves,  and,  by  the  un- 
skilfulness  of  their  drivers,  coming  continually  into  collision,  are 
lamed,  or  break  their  wings,  and,  after  much  labor,  go  away  with 
out  accomplishing  their  purpose,  and  return  to  feed  upon  mere 
opinion. 


219 

"The  motive  of  this  great  anxiety  to  view  the  supercelestial 
plain  of  Truth  is  that  the  proper  food  of  the  soul  is  derived  from 
thence,  and,  in  particular,  the  wings,  by  which  the  soul  is  made 
light  and  carried  aloft,  are  nourished  upon  it.  Now  it  is  an  in 
violable  law  that  any  soul  which,  placing  itself  in  the  train  of 
the  Gods,  and  journeying  along  with  them,  obtains  a  sight  of  any 
of  these  self-existent  Realities,  remains  exempt  from  all  harm 
until  the  next  circumvolution,  and,  if  it  can  contrive  to  effect 
this  every  time,  is  forever  safe  and  uninjured.  But  if,  being  un 
able  to  elevate  itself  to  the  necessary  height,  it  altogether  fails  of 
seeing  these  realities,  and,  being  weighed  down  by  vice  and  ob 
livion,  loses  its  wings  and  falls  to  the  earth,  it  enters  into  and  ani 
mates  some  Body.  It  never  enters,  at  the  first  generation,  into 
the  body  of  a  brute  animal ;  but  that  which  has  seen  most  en 
ters  into  the  body  of  a  person  who  will  become  a  lover  of  wis 
dom,  or  a  lover  of  beauty,  or  a  person  addicted  to  music,  or  to 
love;  the  next  in  rank,  into  that  of  a  monarch  who  reigns  ac 
cording  to  law,  or  a  warrior,  or  a  man  of  talents  for  command  ; 
the  third,  into  a  person  qualified  to  administer  the  State,  and 
manage  his  family  affairs,  or  carry  on  a  gainful  occupation ; 
the  fourth  into  a  person  fond  of  hard  labor  and  bodily  exer 
cises,  or  skilled  in  the  prevention  and  curing  of  bodily  diseases ; 
the  fifth,  into  a  prophet,  or  a  teacher  of  religious  ceremonies ; 
the  sixth,  into  a  poet,  or  a  person  addicted  to  any  other  of  the 
imitative  arts ;  the  seventh,  into  a  husbandman  or  an  artificer ; 
the  eighth,  into  a  sophist,  or  a  courtier  of  the  people ;  the  ninth, 
into  a  despot  and  usurper.  And,  in  all  these  different  fortunes, 
they  who  conduct  themselves  justly  will  obtain  next  time  a  more 
eligible  lot;  they  who  conduct  themselves  unjustly  a  worse.  The 
soul  never  returns  to  its  pristine  state  in  less  than  ten  thousand 
years,  for  its  wings  do  not  grow  in  a  shorter  time ;  except  only 
the  soul  of  one  who  philosophizes  with  sincerity  or  who  loves 
with  philosophy.  Such  souls,  after  three  periods  of  one  thousand 
years,  if  they  choose  thrice  in  succession  this  kind  of  life,  recover 
their  wings  in  the  three  thousandth  year,  and  depart.  The  other 


220 

souls,  at  the  termination  of  their  first  life,  are  judged,  and,  hav 
ing  received  their  sentence,  are  either  sent  for  punishment  into 
the  places  of  execution  under  the  earth,  or  are  elevated  to  a  place 
in  heaven,  in  which  they  are  rewarded  according  to  the  life  which 
they  led  while  here.  In  either  case  they  are  called  back  on  the 
thousandth  year,  to  choose  or  draw  lots  for  a  new  life.  Then  a 
human  soul  often  passes  into  the  body  of  a  beast,  and  that  of  a 
beast,  if  it  has  ever  been  human,  passes  again  into  the  body  of  a 
man ;  for  a  soul  which  has  never  seen  the  Truth  at  all  cannot  en 
ter  into  the  human  form,  it  being  necessary  that  man  should  be 
able  to  apprehend  many  things  according  to  kinds,  which  kinds 
are  composed  of  many  perceptions  combined  by  reason  into  one. 
Now,  this  mode  of  apprehending  is  neither  more  nor  less  than 
the  recollecting  of  those  things  which  the  soul  formerly  saw  when 
it  journeyed  along  with  the  Gods,  and,  disregarding  what  we 
now  call  beings,  applied  itself  to  the  apprehension  of  Real  Be 
ing.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  soul  of  the  philosopher  is  re- 
fledged  in  a  shorter  period  than  others ;  for,  it  constantly,  to  the 
best  of  its  power,  occupies  itself  in  trying  to  recollect  those  things 
which  the  Gods  contemplated,  and  by  the  contemplation  of 
which  they  are  Gods ;  by  which  means  being  lifted  out  of,  and 
above,  human  cares  and  interests,  he  is,  by  the  vulgar,  considered 
as  mad,  while  in  reality  he  is  inspired." 

This  is  unquestionably  the  poetry  of  philosophy,  and  it  is  from 
such  passages  that  the  popular  opinion  respecting  Plato  has  been 
formed ;  but  they  represent  only  a  small  portion  of  the  real 
thinker.  Towards  the  close  the  reader  will  have  remarked  that 
the  famous  doctrine  of  reminiscence  is  implied.  This  doctrine 
may  be  seen  fully  developed  in  the  Phcedo  ;  it  seems  to  have  been 
a  fundamental  one.  The  difficulties  of  conceiving  the  possibility 
of  any  knowledge  other  than  the  sense-knowledge,  which  the  So 
phists  had  successfully  proved  to  lead  to  skepticism,  must  early 
have  troubled  Plato's  mind.  If  we  know  nothing  but  what  our 
senses  teach  us,  then  is  all  knowledge  trivial.  Those  who  admit 
the  imperfection  of  the  senses  and  fall  back  upon  Reason,  beg 


PLATO'S  PSYCHOLOGY.  221 

the  question.  How  do  we  know  that  Reason  is  correct  ?  How 
can  we  be  assured  that  Reason  is  not  subject  to  some  such  inevi 
table  imperfection  as  that  to  which  sense  is  subject  ? 

Here  the  ever-recurring  problem  of  human  knowledge  pre 
sents  itself.  Plato  was  taught  by  Socrates  that  beyond  the  world 
of  Sense,  there  was  the  world  of  eternal  Truth ;  that  men  who 
differed  greatly  respecting  individual  things  did  not  differ  respect 
ing  universals ;  that  there  was  a  common  fund  of  Truth,  from 
which  all  human  souls  drew  their  share.  Agreeing  with  his 
master  that  there  were  certain  principles  about  which  there 
could  be  no  dispute,  he  wished  to  know  how  he  came  by  those 
principles. 

All  who  have  examined  the  nature  of  our  knowledge,  are  aware 
that  it  is  partly  made  up  of  direct  impressions  received  by  the 
senses,  and  partly  of  ideas  which  never  were,  at  least  in  their 
ideal  state,  perceived  by  the  senses.  It  is  this  latter  part  which 
has  agitated  the  schools.  On  the  one  side,  men  have  declared  it 
to  be  wholly  independent  of  the  senses — to  be  the  pure  action  of 
the  soul.  In  its  simplest  form,  this  doctrine  may  be  called  the 
doctrine  of  Innate  Ideas.  On  the  other  side,  men  have  as  vigor 
ously  argued  that,  although  all  our  ideas  were  not  absolutely 
derived  from  the  senses  in  a  direct  manner,  yet  they  were  all  so 
derived  in  an  indirect  manner :  thus,  we  have  never  seen  a  mer 
maid  ;  but  we  have  seen  both  a  fish  and  a  woman,  and  to  com 
bine  these  two  impressions  is  all  that  the  mind  does  in  conceiving 
a  mermaid.  This  doctrine  is  pushed  to  its  limits  in  the  eigh 
teenth-century  philosophy,  which  says,  Penser,  Jest  sentir:  thought 
is  a  transformed  sensation. 

Plato,  in  adopting  the  former  view,  rendered  it  more  cogent 
than  most  of  his  successors  ;  for  is  it  not  somewhat  gratuitous  to 
say,  we  are  born  with  such  and  such  ideas  ?  It  is  different  from 
saying  we  are  born  with  certain  faculties :  that  would  be  admis 
sible.  But,  to  be  driven  into  a  corner,  and  on  being  asked, 
whence  came  those  ideas  ?  to  answer,  they  are  innate, — is  a  pure 
petitio  principii.  What  proof  have  you  that  they  are  in- 


222 

nate  ?     Merely  the  proof  that  you  cannot  otherwise  account  for 
them  ? 

Plato  was  more  consistent.  He  said  The  Soul  is  and  ever  was 
immortal.  In  its  anterior  states  of  existence  it  had  accurate  con 
ceptions  of  the  eternal  Truth.  It  was  face  to  face  with  Existence. 
Now,  having  descended  upon  earth,  having  passed  into  a  body, 
and,  being  subject  to  the  hindrances  of  that  bodily  imprisonment, 
it  is  no  longer  face  to  face  with  Existence  :  it  can  see  Existence 
only  through  the  ever-changing  flux  of  material  phenomena. 
The  world  is  only  becoming,  never  is.  The  Soul  would  apprehend 
only  the  becoming,  had  it  not  some  recollection  of  its  anterior 
state — had  it  not  in  some  sort  the  power  of  tracing  the  unvary 
ing  Idea  under  the  varying  phenomena.  When,  for  example,  we 
see  a  stone,  all  that  our  senses  convey  is  the  appearance  of  that 
stone :  but,  as  the  stone  is  large  or  small,  the  soul  apprehends 
the  Idea  of  Greatness ;  and  this  apprehension  is  a  reminiscence 
of  the  world  of  Ideas,  awakened  by  the  sensation.  So  when  we 
see  or  hear  of  a  benevolent  action,  besides  the  fact,  our  Soul  ap 
prehends  the  Idea  of  Goodness.  And  all  our  recollection  of  Ideas 
is  performed  in  the  same  way.  It  is  as  if  in  our  youth  we  had 
listened  to  some  mighty  orator  whose  printed  speech  we  are  read 
ing  in  old  age.  That  printed  page,  how  poor  and  faint  a  copy 
of  that  thrilling  eloquence !  how  we  miss  the  speaker's  piercing, 
vibrating  tones,  his  flashing  eye,  his  flashing  face!  And  yet  that 
printed  page  in  some  dim  way  recalls  those  tones,  recalls  that 
face,  and  stirs  us  somewhat  as  we  then  were  stirred.  Long  years 
and  many  avocations  have  somewhat  effaced  the  impression  he 
first  made,  but  the  printed  words  serve  faintly  to  recall  it.  Thus 
it  is  with  our  immortal  Souls.  They  have  sojourned  in  that 
celestial  region  where  the  voice  of  Truth  rings  clearly,  where  the 
aspect  of  Truth  is  unveiled,  undimmed.  They  are  now  sojourn 
ing  in  this  fleeting,  flowing  river  of  life,  stung  with  resistless 
longings  for  the  skies,  and  solaced  only  by  the  reminiscences  of 
that  former  state  which  these  fleeting,  broken,  incoherent  images 
of  Ideas  awaken  in  them. 


PLATO'S  PSYCHOLOGY.  223 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  this  a  mere  poetical  conception. 
Plato  never  sacrifices  logic  to  poetry.  If  he  sometimes  calls 
poetry  to  his  aid,  it  is  only  to  express  by  it  those  ideas  which 
logic  cannot  grasp,  ideas  which  are  beyond  demonstration ;  but 
he  never  indulges  in  mere  fancies.  Instead  therefore  of  saying 
that  Reason  was  occupied  with  innate  ideas,  he  consistently  said 
that  every  thing  which  the  senses  did  not  furnish  was  a  reminis 
cence  of  the  world  of  Ideas. 

We  are  now  in  a  condition  to  answer  the  question  with  which 
the  last  Section  was  closed, — How  to  ascertain  the  Truth,  if 
Phenomena  are  not  exact  copies  of  Noumena  ?  The  sensation 
awakens  recollection,  and  the  recollection  is  of  Truth ;  the  soul 
is  confronted  with  the  Many  by  means  of  Sense,  and  by  means 
of  Reason  it  detects  the  One  in  the  Many ;  i.  e.  the  particular 
things  perceived  by  Sense  awaken  the  recollection  of  Universals 
or  Ideas.  But  this  recollection  of  Truth  is  always  more  or  less 
imperfect.  Absolute  Truth  is  for  the  Gods  alone.  No  man  is 
without  some  of  the  divine  spark.  Philosophers  alone  have  any 
large  share ;  and  they  might  increase  it  by  a  proper  method. 

The  philosophy  of  Plato  has  two  distinct  branches,  somewhat 
resembling  what  we  found  in  Parmenides.  The  universe  is  di 
vided  into  two  parts  :  the  celestial  region  of  Ideas,  and  the 
mundane  region  of  material  phenomena.  These  answer  very 
well  to  the  modern  conception  of  Heaven  and  Earth.  As  the 
phenomena  of  matter  are  but  copies  of  Ideas  (not,  as  some  sup 
pose,  their  bodily  realization),  there  arises  a  question  :  How  do 
Ideas  become  Matter  ?  In  other  words  :  How  do  Things  partici 
pate  in  Ideas  ?  We  have  mooted  the  question  in  the  former 
Section,  where  we  said  that  it  admitted  of  no  satisfactory  solu 
tion  ;  nor  does  it ;  and  we  must  not  be  surprised  to  find  Plato 
giving,  at  different  times,  two  very  different  explanations.  These 
two  explanations  are  too  curious  to  be  overlooked.  In.  the  Re 
public,  he  says  that  God,  instead  of  perpetually  creating  individ 
ual  things,  created  a  distinct  type  (Idea)  for  each  thing.  From 
this  type  all  other  things  of  the  class  are  made.  Thus,  God  made 


224: 

the  Idea  of  a  bed :  according  to  this  type,  any  carpenter  may 
now  fashion  as  many  beds  as  he  likes,  in  the  same  way  as  an 
artist  may  imitate  in  his  paintings  the  types  already  created,  but 
cannot  himself  create  any  thing  new.  The  argument,  as  an 
illustration  of  Plato's  Method,  may  be  given  here  : 

"Shall  we  proceed  according  to  our  usual  Method?  That 
Method,  as  you  know,  is  the  embracing  under  one  general  Idea 
the  multiplicity  of  things  which  exist  separately,  but  have  the 
same  name.  You  comprehend  ? 

"  Perfectly. 

"  Let  us  take  any  thing  you  like.  For  instance,  there  is  a 
multiplicity  of  beds  and  tables  ? 

"  Certainly. 

"  But  these  two  kinds  are  comprised,  one  under  the  Idea  of  a 
bed,  and  the  other  under  the  Idea  of  a  table  ? 

"  Without  doubt. 

"  And  we  say  that  the  carpenter  who  makes  one  of  these  arti 
cles,  makes  the  bed  or  the  table  according  to  the  Idea  he  has  of 
each.  For  he  does  not  make  the  Idea  itself.  That  is  impossible? 

"  Truly,  that  is  impossible. 

"  Well,  now,  what  name  shall  we  bestow  on  the  workman 
whom  I  am  now  going  to  name  ? 

"  What  workman  ? 

"  Him  who  makes  what  all  the  other  workmen  make  sepa 
rately. 

"  You  speak  of  a  powerful  man  ! 

"  Patience ;  you  will  admire  him  still  more.  This  workmen 
has  not  only  the  talent  of  making  all  the  works  of  art,  but  also 
all  the  works  of  nature ;  plants,  animals,  every  thing  else  ;  in  a 
word,  himself.*  He  makes  the  Heaven,  the  Earth,  the  Gods ; 
every  thing  in  Heaven,  Earth,  or  Hell. 


*  Td  Tt  a\\a  KOI  Iavr6v.  "VVc  are  inclined  to  regard  this  passage  as  cor 
rupt,  the  self-creation  of  God  being  certainly  no  Platonic  notion ;  at  least 
not  countenanced  by  any  other  passage  in  any  other  work.  The  scholiast 
makes  no  comment  on  it. 


225 

"  You  speak  of  a  wonderful  workman,  truly  ! 

"You  seem  to  doubt  me  ?  But,  tell  me,  do  you  think  there  is 
no  such  workman ;  or,  do  you  think  that  in  one  sense  any  one 
could  do  all  this,  but  in  another  no  one  could  ?  Could  you  not 
yourself  succeed  in  a  certain  way  ? 

"  In  what  way  ? 

"  It  is  not  difficult ;  it  is  often  done,  and  in  a  short  time.  Take 
a  mirror,  and  turn  it  round  on  all  sides :  in  an  instant  you  will 
have  made  the  sun  and  stars,  the  earth,  yourself,  the  animals  and 
plants,  works  of  art,  and  all  we  mentioned. 

"Yes,  the  images,  the  appearances,  but  not  the  real  things. 

"  Very  well ;  you  comprehend  my  opinion.  The  painter  is  a 
workman  of  this  class,  is  he  not  ? 

"  Certainly. 

"  You  will  tell  me  that  he  makes  nothing  real,  although  he 
makes  a  bed  in  a  certain  way  ? 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  is  only  an  appearance,  an  image. 

"  And  the  carpenter,  did  you  not  allow  that  the  bed  which  he 
made  was  not  the  Idea  which  we  call  the  essence  of  the  bed,  the 
real  bed,  but  only  a  certain  bed  ? 

"I  said  so,  indeed. 

"  If,  then,  he  does  not  make  the  Idea  of  the  bed,  he  makes 
nothing  real,  but  only  something  which  represents  that  which 
really  exists.  And,  if  any  one  maintain  that  the  carpenter's  work 
has  a  real  existence  he  will  be  in  error."* 

In  the  Timceus,  perhaps  the  most  purely  expository  of  all  his 
works,  and  unquestionably  one  of  the  latest,  Plato  takes  a  totally 
different  view  of  the  creation  of  the  world.  God  is  there  said, 
not  to  create  types  (Ideas)  ;  but  these  types  having  existed  from 
all  eternity,  God  in  fashioning  Chaos  fashioned  it  after  the  model 
of  these  Ideas.  lu  this  view  there  is  no  participation  in  the  na 
ture  of  Ideas,  but  only  a  participation  in  their  form. 

Whichever  hypothesis  he  adopted  (and  Plato  did  not  much 

*  Rep-tib.  x.  467-8-,  ed.  Bekker. 
10* 


226 

care  for  either),  this  conception  of  Heaven  and  Earth  as  two  dif 
ferent  regions,  is  completed  by  the  conception  of  the  double  na 
ture  of  the  soul ;  or  rather,  of  two  souls :  one  Rational  and  the 
other  Sensitive.  These  two  souls  are  closely  connected,  as  the 
two  regions  of  Ideas  and  Phenomena  are  connected.  Neither  of 
them  is  superfluous ;  neither  of  them,  in  a  human  sense,  suffi 
cient  :  they  complete  each  other.  The  Sensitive  soul  awakens 
the  reminiscences  of  the  Rational  soul ;  and  the  Rational  soul, 
by  detecting  the  One  in  the  Many,  preserves  Man  from  the  skep 
ticism  inevitably  resulting  from  mere  sense-knowledge. 

Thus  did  Plato  resume  in  himself  all  the  conflicting  tendencies 
of  his  age ;  thus  did  he  accept  each  portion  of  the  truth  supposed 
to  be  discovered  by  his  predecessors,  and  reconcile  these  portions 
in  one  general  tendency.  In  that  vast  system,  all  skepticism  and 
all  faith  found  acceptance :  the  skepticism  was  corrected,  the  faith 
was  propped  up  by  more  solid  arguments.  He  admitted,  with 
the  skeptics,  the  imperfection  of  all  sense-knowledge  ;  but,  though 
imperfect,  he  declared  it  not  worthless :  it  is  no  more  like  the 
Truth  than  phenomena  are  like  Ideas ;  but,  as  phenomena  are  in 
some  sort  modelled  after  Ideas,  and  do,  therefore,  in  some  dim 
way,  represent  Ideas,  so  does  sense-knowledge  lead  the  patient 
thinker  to  something  like  the  Truth :  it  awakens  in  him  remi 
niscence  of  the  Truth.  As  Ritter  says,  "He  shows,  in  detail, 
that  in  the  world  of  sense  there  is  no  perfect  likeness,  but  that 
an  object  which  at  one  time  appears  like,  is  at  another  thought 
to  be  unlike,  and  is,  therefore,  defective  in  completeness  of  re 
semblance,  and  has  at  most  but  a  tendency  thereto.  The  same 
is  the  case  with  the  Beautiful,  the  Good,  the  Just,  the  Holy,  and 
with  all  that  really  is  j  in  the  sensible  world  there  is  nothing 
exactly  resembling  them,  neither  similar  nor  dissimilar;  all, 
however,  that  possesses  any  degree  of  correspondence  with  these 
true  species  of  being  is  perceived  by  us  through  the  senses,  and 
thereby  reminds  us  of  what  truly  is.  From  this  it  is  clear  that 
he  had  previously  seen  it  somewhere,  or  been  conscious  of  it, 
and,  as  this  could  not  have  been  in  the  present,  it  must  have 


227 

been  in  some  earlier  state  of  existence.  In  this  respect  there  is 
a  close  connection  between  this  doctrine  and  the  view  of  sensible 
objects,  which  represents  them  as  mere  copies  or  resemblances  of 
the  super-sensible  truth ;  for,  even  in  perception,  a  feeling  arises 
upon  the  mind,  that  all  we  see  or  hear  is  very  far  from  reaching 
to  a  likeness  to  that  which  is  the  true  being  and  the  absolutely 
like ;  but  that,  striving  to  attain,  it  falls  short  of  perfect  resem 
blance  ;  and  consequently,  the  impressions  of  the  sense  are  mere 
tokens  of  the  eternal  ideas,  whose  similitude  they  bear,  and  of 
which  they  are  copies." 

§  VI.  SUMMARY  OF  PLATO'S  DIALECTICS. 

Having  exhibited  Plato's  conceptions  of  Method,  of  Ideas,  and 
of  the  Soul,  it  will  now  be  convenient  to  take  a  brief  review  of 
them,  to  exhibit  their  position  in  the  general  doctrine. 

Dialectics  was  the  base  of  the  Platonic  doctrine.  Indeed, 
Plato  believed  in  no  other  Science ;  Dialectics  and  Philosophy 
were  synonymous.  For  Dialectics  (or  Logic)  to  be  synonymous 
with  Philosophy,  the  theory  of  Ideas  was  necessary.  Dialectics 
is  the  science  of  general  propositions,  of  general  terms,  of  univer- 
sals.  To  become  the  science  it  must  necessarily  be  occupied  with 
more  important  things.  Ideas  are  these  important  things ;  for 
Ideas  are  at  once  the  only  real  Existences,  and  General  Terms. 
Whoso  discoursed  about  General  Terms  discoursed  about  Exist 
ence  ;  and  deeper  than  that,  no  science  could  hope  to  penetrate. 
Plato,  whose  opinions  can  scarcely  ever  be  accepted  as  final,  is 
both  explicit  and  constant  in  his  conception  of  Dialectics  as  the 
science.  To  determine  the  real  nature  of  science,  he  devotes  an 
entire  dialogue  :  the  Thecctetus.  That  remarkable  work  is  pure 
ly  critical ;  it  refutes  the  opinions  of  adversaries,  in  such  a  way 
as  to  leave  no  doubt  as  to  Plato's  own  opinion.  All  attempts  to 
constitute  science  either  upon  perception  (cuefd^tfis)  or  upon  opin 
ion  (£o|<x)  he  refutes  in  an  irresistible  manner.  Perception  can 
only  be  of  objects  which  have  no  stability,  which  have  no  real 
Existence.  Opinion,  though  it  be  correct,  is  unable  to  constitute 


228 

science ;  for  there  are  two  sorts  of  opinion, — false  and  true  ;  and 
to  distinguish  the  true  from  the  false  would  require  a  science 
which  knew  the  Truth.  It  follows,  as  a  necessary  consequence, 
that  Ideas,  which  are  the  real  immutable  elements  of  science, 
must  be  known  in  themselves,  and  that  science  consists  in  seek 
ing  the  order  of  development  of  these  Ideas ;  that  is  to  say,  in 
Dialectics. 

Owing  to  the  Ideal  theory,  Dialectics  was  necessarily  the  sci 
ence  ;  that  is,  the  science  of  Being.  The  distinction  between  his 
Dialectics  and  the  Logic  of  his  successors  is  very  marked.  While 
he  spoke  of  Dialectics  as  the  art  of  methodical  classification  of 
genera, — the  art  of  speaking  upon  general  notions, — he  did  not 
confine  it  to  subjective  truth ;  for  he  believed  this  subjective 
truth  to  be  only  a  reflex  of  the  objective  reality :  he  believed 
that  abstract  ideas  were  images  of  real  existences.  Dialectics 
was  therefore  not  only  the  "  art  of  thinking,"  but  the  science  of 
immutable  being. 

In  the  twofold  aspect  of  Creation  there  was  this  division  of 
knowledge : 

PERCEPTION. 

Matter,  phe-nomena,  TO,  yiyv6f*«a= Sensation  =  Opinion. 

DIALECTICS. 

Existence,  Ideas,  <ra  ovra= Abstract  Ideas  =  Science. 

In  the  everchanging  flux  of  Becoming,  which  was  the  object 
of  Perception,  there  were  traces  of  the  immutable  Being,  which 
was  the  object  of  science.  This  distinction  may  be  applied  to 
Plato's  own  manifold  works.  We  may  say  of  them  that  the 
opinions  on  psychology,  physics,  ethics,  and  politics  are  con 
stantly  changing,  uncertain ;  but  amidst  aJl  these  various  opin 
ions  there  reigns  one  constant  Method,.  He  never  wavers  as  to 
Dialectics.  We  may  therefore  fully  understand  the  importance 
bestowed  on  Dialectics ;  and  we  may  also  clearly  see  what  is 
meant  by  identifying  his  Philosophy  with  Dialectics. 

The  basis  of  the  Platonic  doctrine  therefore  is  Dialectics  ;  the 


PLATO'S  THEOLOGY  AND  COSMOLOGY.  229 

subject-matter  of  Dialectics  consists  of  Ideas ;  and  the  Method 
consists  of  Definitions,  Analysis,  and  Induction. 

§  VII.  PLATO'S  THEOLOGY  AND  COSMOLOGY. 

Hitherto  we  have  been  occupied  solely  with  the  general  doc 
trine  ;  we  have  now  to  descend  to  particulars.  But,  as  so  often 
remarked,  particular  doctrines  have  scarcely  any  stability  in  the 
Platonic  writings ;  what  is  advanced  to-day  is  refuted  to-morrow ; 
accordingly,  critics  and  historians  have  squabbled  about  these 
wavering  opinions,  as  if  agreement  were  possible.  One  declares 
Plato  held  one  opinion ;  and  cites  his  passages  in  proof.  An 
other  thinks  his  predecessor  a  blockhead ;  and  cites  other  pas 
sages  wholly  destructive  of  the  opinion  Plato  is  said  to  have 
maintained.  A  third  comes,  and,  stringing  passages  from  one 
dialogue  to  passages  from  another,  interprets  the  whole  in  his 
own  way.  A  consistent  Theological  doctrine  will  not  therefore 
be  expected  from  us :  we  can  only  reproduce  some  of  the  Pla 
tonic  notions,  those  especially  which  have  influenced  later  thinkers. 

In  the  same  way  as  Plato  sought  to  detect  the  One  amidst  the 
Multiplicity  of  material  phenomena,  and,  having  detected  it,  de 
clared  it  to  be  the  real  essence  of  matter,  so  also  did  he  seek  to 
detect  the  One  amidst  the  Multiplicity  of  Ideas,  and,  having  de 
tected  it,  declared  it  to  be  God.  What  Ideas  were  to  Phenom 
ena,  God  was  to  Ideas :  the  last  result  of  generalization.  God 
was  thus  the  One  Being  comprising  within  himself  all  other  Be 
ings,  the  ev  XOLI  -rroXXa,  the  Cause  of  all  things,  celestial  and  ter 
restrial.  God  was  the  supreme  Idea.  Whatever  view  we  take 
of  the  Platonic  cosmology — whether  God  created  Ideas,  or 
whether  he  only  fashioned  unformed  matter  after  the  model  of 
Ideas — we  are  equally  led  to  the  conviction,  that  God  represent 
ed  the  supreme  Idea  of  all  Existence;  the  great  Intelligence, 
source  of  all  other  Intelligences ;  the  Sun  whose  light  illumined 
creation.  God  is  perfect,  ever  the  same,  without  envy,  wishing 
nothing  but  good :  for,  although  a  clear  knowledge  of  God  is 
impossible  to  mortals,  an  approximation  to  that  knowledge  is 


230 

possible  :  we  cannot  know  what  he  is,  we  can  only  know  what 
he  is  like.  He  must  be  good,  because  self-sufficing;  and  the 
world  is  good,  because  he  made  it.  Why  did  he  make  it  ?  God 
made  the  world  because  he  was  free  from  envy,  and  wished  that 
all  things  should  resemble  him  as  much  as  possible  ;  he  there 
fore  persuaded  Necessity  to  become  stable,  harmonious,  and  fash 
ioned  according  to  Excellence.  Yes,  persuaded  is  Plato's  word  ; 
for  there  were  two  eternal  Principles,  Intelligence  and  Necessity, 
and  from  the  mixture  of  these  the  world  was  made  ;  but  Intelli 
gence  persuaded  Necessity  to  be  fashioned  according  to  Excel 
lence.*  He  arranged  chaos  into  Beauty.  But,  as  there  is 
nothing  beautiful  but  Intelligence,  and  as  there  is  no  Intelligence 
without  a  Soul,  he  placed  a  Soul  into  the  body  of  the  World, 
and  made  the  World  an  animal. 

Plato's  proof  of  the  world  being  an  animal  is  too  curious  a 
specimen  of  his  analogical  reasoning  to  be  passed  over.  There  is 
warmth  in  the  human  being  ;  there  is  warmth  also  in  the  world  : 
the  human  being  is  composed  of  various  elements,  and  is  there 
fore  called  a  body  ;  the  world  is  also  composed  of  various  ele 
ments,  and  is  therefore  a  body  ;  and,  as  our  bodies  have  souls, 
the  body  of  the  world  must  have  a  soul  ;  and  that  soul  stands  in 
the  same  relation  to  our  souls,  as  the  warmth  of  the  world  stands 
to  our  warmth.f  Having  thus  demonstrated  the  world  to  be  an 
animal,  it  was  but  natural  he  should  conceive  that  animal  as  re 
sembling  its  creator,  and  human  beings  as  resembling  the  uni 
versal  animal,  TO  ifoiv  £wov.  As  soon  as  the  World,  that  image 
of  the  eternal  Gods,  as  soon  as  that  vast  Animal  began  to  move, 
live,  and  think,  God  looked  upon  his  work,  and  was  glad.J; 

But  although  God  in  his  goodness  would  have  made  nothing 


*  Me/iiy/ifvf?  yiip  ovv  f)  Toij&c  TOV  Kdir^ov  yivtcig  f£  dvdyKtj<;  r£  Kat  vov  ffvardaeus 
fyevvftOr],  vov6i  dvdyKTjs  ap^vroj  ru>  irtiQt.iv  avrriv  rtDv  yiyvoptvuv  TU  jrAtlara  iirt 
TO  /JfArjorov  aytiv.  —  Timceus,  p.  56. 
t  Philebus,  pp.  170-1. 

J  'ii{  Si  Ktvrjdlv  ai)Tb  KOI  ^uv  Ifev6rjae  TWV  di'J/wv  QtS>v  ytyovoj  aya\na  b  ytv- 
7rar/;p,  {jydaBrj  re  Kit    t.v(j>pavQe.\<;  CTI  <5i)    paXXov  tfpotov  npos  TO 
atv  dnepydoaodat.  —  Timceus,  p.  36. 


PLATO'S  THEOLOGY  AND  COSMOLOGY.  231 

evil,  he  could  not  prevent  the  existence  of  it.  Various  disputes 
have  been  warmly  carried  on  by  scholars,  respecting  the  nature 
of  this  Evil  which  Plato  was  forced  to  admit.  Some  have  con 
ceived  it  nothing  less  than  the  Manichsean  doctrine.  Thus  much 
we  may  say  :  the  notion  of  an  antagonist  principle  is  inseparable 
from  every  religious  formula :  as  God  can  only  be  Good,  and  as 
Evil  does  certainly  exist,  it  must  exist  independently  of  him ;  it 
must  be  eternal.  Plato  cut  the  matter  very  short  by  his  logical 
principle, — that  since  there  was  a  Good,  there  must  necessarily 
be  the  contrary  of  Good,  namely,  Evil.  If  Evil  exists,  how  does 
it  exist,  and  where  ?  It  cannot  find  place  in  the  celestial  region 
of  Ideas.  It  must  therefore  necessarily  dwell  in  the  terrestrial 
region  of  phenomena :  its  home  is  the  world ;  it  is  banished 
from  heaven.  And  is  not  this  logical?  "What  is  the  world  of 
Phenomena  but  an  imperfect  copy  of  the  world  of  Ideas,  and 
how  can  the  imperfect  be  the  purely  Good?  When  Ideas  are 
"  realized,"  as  the  Pantheists  would  say,  when  Ideas,  pure  immu 
table  essences,  are  clothed  in  material  forms,  or  when  matter  is 
fashioned  after  the  model  of  those  Ideas,  what  can  result  but  im 
perfections  ?  The  Ideas  are  not  in  this  world :  they  are  only  in 
a  state  of  becoming,  ovrug  oWa,  not  ^jyvojut-sva.  Phenomena  are 
in  their  very  nature  imperfect :  they  are  perpetually  striving  to 
exist  as  realities.  In  their  constitution  there  is  something  of  the 
divine :  an  image  of  the  Idea,  and  some  participation  in  it;  but 
more  of  the  primeval  chaos. 

Those,  therefore,  who  say  that  Plato  thought  that  "  Evil  was 
inherent  in  matter,"  though  expressing  themselves  loosely,  ex 
press  themselves  on  the  whole  correctly.  Matter  was  the  great 
Necessity  which  Intelligence  fashioned.  Because  it  was  Neces 
sity  and  unintelligent,  it  was  Evil,  for  Intelligence  alone  can  be 
good.* 

*  In  the  Laws,  x.  pp.  201-2,  he  curiously  distinguished  the  vovs  from  the 
^*-Xf>  in  this  manner.  The  i//i>x>?  (vital  principle)  is  the  self-moving  principle  ; 
but,  inasmuch  as  it  is  sometimes  moved  to  bad  as  well  as  to  good  (rwv  rt  aya- 
6uv  alriav  tii'ai  ipvxnv  ica)  T&V  KOKWV),  it  was  necessary  to  have  some  other 


232  PLATO'S  THEOLOGY  AND  COSMOLOGY. 

Now,  as  this  world  of  phenomena  is  the  region  where  Evil 
dwells,  we  must  use  our  utmost  endeavors  to  escape  from  it. 
And  how  escape?  By  suicide? — No.  By  leading  the  life  of 
the  Gods ;  and  every  Platonist  knows  that  the  life  of  the  Gods 
consists  in  the  eternal  contemplation  of  Truth,  of  Ideas.  Thus,  as 
on  every  side,  are  we  forced  to  encounter  Dialectics  as  the  sole 
salvation  for  man. 

From  the  above  explanation  of  the  nature  of  Evil,  it  will  be 
seen  that  there  is  no  contradiction  in  Plato's  saying,  that  the 
quantity  of  Evil  in  this  life  exceeded  that  of  the  Good  ;  it  exceeds 
it  in  the  proportion  that  phenomena  exceed  noumena, — that 
matter  exceeds  Ideas. 

But  although  Evil  be  a  necessary  part  of  the  world,  it  is  in 
constant  struggle  with  Good.  What  is  this  but  the  struggle  of 
Becoming  ?  And  man  is  endowed  with  Free  Will  and  Intelli 
gence  :  he  may  therefore  choose  between  Good  and  Evil.*  And 
according  to  his  choice  will  his  future  life  be  regulated.  Me 
tempsychosis  was  a  doctrine  Plato  borrowed  from  Pythagoras ; 
and  in  that  doctrine  he  could  find  arguments  for  the  enforce 
ment  of  a  sage  and  virtuous  life,  which  no  other  afforded  at  that 
epoch. 

We  have  said  nothing  of  the  arguments  whereby  Plato  proves 
the  existence  of  God ;  for  we  have  been  forced  to  pass  over  many 
details  :  but  we  cannot  close  this  chapter  without  alluding  to  an 
argument  often  used  in  modern  times,  and  seldom  suspected  to 
have  had  so  ancient  an  upholder, — God  is  proved  to  exist,  by 
the  very  feeling  of  affinity  to  his  nature  which  stirs  within  our 
souls. 

Such  opinions  as  those  above  set  down  were  certainly  ex 
pressed  by  Plato  at  different  times  :  but  we  again  warn  the 


principle  which  should  determine  its  direction.     He  therefore  makes  voCj 
(intelligence)  the  principle  which  determines  the  soul  (whether  the  soul  of 
the  world  or  of  man,. it  is  the  same)  to  good  ;  and  avoia  (ignorance — want  of 
nous)  which  determines  it  to  evil 
*  Laws,  x.  p.  217. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  AND  THE  GOOD.         233 

reader  against  supposing  them  to  have  been  his  constant  views. 
They  are  taken  from  works  written  at  wide  intervals,  and  bearing 
considerable  difference  of  opinion  ;  and  in  those  very  works  there 
are  occasional  glimpses  of  an  appalling  doctrine,  namely,  that 
man  is  but  the  plaything  of  God,  who  alternately  governs  and 
forsakes  the  world.  The  first  clause  of  this  sentence  seems  de 
rived  from  Heraclitus,  who  said,  "  that  making  worlds  was  the 
sport  of  Demiurgos."  Plato's  words  are  these :  avdpwtfov  8s  deou 
Ti  wccj^viov  sTvai  (xsjuni^avTjfASvov  :  and  this  is  said  to  be  man's  great 
est  excellence.*  The  second  clause  is  formally  expressed  by 
Plato  thus :  "  God,"  he  says,  "  alternately  governs  and  forsakes 
the  world ;  when  he  governs  it,  things  go  on  well :  it  is  the  age 
of  gold  ;  when  he  forsakes  it,  the  world  suddenly  turns  round  in 
a  contrary  orbit, — a  fearful  crisis  takes  place,  all  things  are  dis 
ordered,  mundane  existence  is  totally  disarranged,  and  only  after 
some  time  do  things  settle  clown  to  a  sort  of  order,  though  of  a 
very  imperfect  kind."f 

§  VIII.  PLATO'S  VIEW  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL  AND  THE  GOOD. 

So  much  has  been  written  and  talked  in  modern  times  of  TO 
xaXov,  "  the  Beautiful,"  as  conceived  by  Plato,  and  this  by  per 
sons  who  never  read  a  line  of  his  works,  that  w£  must  devote  a 
few  sentences  to  it. 

The  bond  which  unites  the  human  to  the  divine  is  Love.  And 
Love  is  the  longing  of  the  Soul  for  Beauty ;  the  inextinguishable 
desire  which  like  feels  for  like,  which  the  divinity  within  us  feels 
for  the  divinity  revealed  to  us  in  Beauty.  This  is  the  celebrated 
Platonic  Love,  which,  from  having  originally  meant  a  com 
munion  of  two  souls,  and  that  in  a  rigidly  dialectical  sense,  has 
been  degraded  to  the  expression  of  maudlin  sentiment  between 
the  sexes.  Platonic  love  meant  ideal  sympathy ;  it  now  means 
the  love  of  a  sentimental  young  gentleman  for  a  woman  he  can 
not  or  will  not  marry. 

*  Laws,  vii.  p.  32.  t  Politicus,  p.  280. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  AND  THE  GOOD. 

But  what  is  Beauty  ?  Not  the  mere  flattery  of  the  senses.  It 
does  not  consist  in  harmonious  outlines  and  resplendent  colors : 
these  are  but  the  indications  of  it.  Beauty  is  Truth.  It  is  the 
radiant  image  of  that  which  was  most  splendid  in  the  world  of 
Ideas.  Listen  to  Plato's  description  of  it  in  the  Phcedrus : — 
"For,  as  we  have  already  said,  every  human  soul  has  actually 
seen  the  Real  Existences,  or  it  would  not  have  come  into  a 
human  shape.  But  it  is  not  easy  for  all  of  them  to  call  to  mind 
what  they  then  saw ;  those,  especially,  which  saw  that  region 
for  a  short  time  only,  and  those  which,  having  fallen  to  the  earth, 
were  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  turned  to  injustice,  and  consequent 
oblivion  of  the  sacred  things  which  were  seen  by  them  in  their 
prior  state.  Few,  therefore,  remain  who  are  adequate  to  the  re 
collection  of  those  things.  These  few,  when  they  see  here  any 
image  or  resemblance  of  the  things  which  are  there,  receive  a 
shock  like  a  thunderbolt,  and  are  in  a  manner  taken  out  of  them 
selves  j  but,  from  deficiency  of  comprehension,  they  know  not 
what  it  is  which  so  affects  them.  Now,  the  likenesses  which 
exist  there  of  Justice  and  Temperance,  and  the  other  things 
which  the  soul  honors,  do  not  possess  any  splendor ;  and  a  few 
persons  only,  with  great  difficulty,  by  the  aid  of  dull,  blunt,  ma 
terial  organs,  perceive  the  terrestrial  likenesses  of  those  qualities, 
and  recognize  them.  But  Beauty  was  not  only  most  splendid 
when  it  was  seen  by  us  forming  part  of  the  heavenly  possession 
or  choir,  but  here  also  the  likeness  of  it  comes  to  us  through  the 
most  acute  and  clear  of  our  senses,  that  of  sight,  and  with  a 
splendor  which  no  other  of  the  terrestrial  images  of  superceles- 
tial  Existences  possess.  They,  then,  who  are  not  fresh  from 
heaven,  or  who  have  been  corrupted,  are  not  vehemently  im 
pelled  towards  that  Beauty  which  is  aloft  when  they  see  that 
upon  earth  which  is  called  by  its  name  ;  they  do  not,  therefore, 
venerate  and  worship  it,  but  give  themselves  up  to  physical 
pleasure  after  the  manner  of  a  quadruped.  But  they  who  are 
fresh  from  those  divine  objects  of  contemplation,  and  who  have 
formerly  contemplated  them  much,  when  they  see  a  godlike 


THE    BEAUTIFUL    AND   THE    GOOD.  235 

countenance  or  form,  in  which  celestial  beauty  is  imaged  and 
well  imitated,  are  first  struck  with  a  holy  awe,  and  then,  ap 
proaching,  venerate  this  beautiful  object  as  a  god,  and,  if  they 
were  not  afraid  of  the  reputation  of  too  raving  a  madness,  would 
erect  altars,  and  perform  sacrifices  to  it. 

"And  the  warmth  and  genial  influence  derived  from  the  at 
mosphere  which  beauty  generates  around  itself,  entering  through 
the  eyes,  softens  and  liquefies  the  inveterate  induration,  which 
coats  and  covers  up  the  parts  in  the  vicinity  of  the  wings,  and 
prevents  them  from  growing.  This  being  melted,  the  wings  be 
gin  to  germinate  and  increase,  and  this,  like  the  growing  of  the 
teeth,  produces  an  itching  and  irritation  which  disturbs  the 
whole  frame  of  the  soul.  When,  therefore,  by  the  contempla 
tion  of  the  beautiful  object,  the  induration  is  softened  and  the 
wings  begin  to  shoot,  the  soul  is  relieved  from  its  pain  and 
rejoices;  but  when  that  object  is  absent,  the  liquefied  sub 
stance  hardens  again,  and  closes  up  the  young  shoots  of  the 
wings,  which  consequently  boil  up  and  throb,  and  throw  the 
soul  into  a  state  of  turbulence  and  rage,  and  will  neither 
allow  it  to  sleep  nor  remain  at  rest,  until  it  can  again  see 
the  beautiful  object,  and  be  relieved.  For  this  reason  it  never 
willingly  leaves  that  object,  but  for  its  sake  deserts  parents, 
and  brothers,  and  friends,  and  neglects  its  patrimony,  and  de 
spises  all  established  usages  on  which  it  valued  itself  before. 
And  this  affection  is  Love." 

The  reader  is  doubtless  by  this  time  familiar  enough  with  the 
Platonic  philosophy  to  appreciate  this  passage.  He  W7ill  see  the 
dialectical  meaning  of  this  poetical  myth.  He  will  comprehend, 
also,  that  the  Platonic  Love  is  naturally  more  appropriate  between 
two  men,  master  and  pupil,  than  between  the  two  sexes ;  because 
it  is  then  purer,  and  less  disturbed  by  other  feelings. 

Beauty  is  the  most  vivid  image  of  Truth  :  it  is  divinity  in  its 
most  perceptible  form.  But  what  is  the  Good  ?  The  Good,  TO 
a/ct^ov,  is  God,  but  God  considered  in  the  abstract.  Truth, 
Beauty,  Justice,  are  all  aspects  of  the  Deity ;  Goodness  is  his 


236 

nature.  The  Good  is  therefore  incapable  of  being  perceived ;  it 
can  only  be  known  in  reflection.  In  the  same  manner  as  the 
sun  is  the  cause  of  sight,  and  also  the  cause  of  the  objects  of 
sight  growing  and  being  produced,  so  also  the  Good  is  the  cause 
of  science,  and  the  cause  of  being  to  whatever  is  the  object  of 
science  :  and,  as  the  sun  itself  is  not  sight,  nor  the  object  of  sight, 
but  presides  over  both  ;  so  also  the  Good  is  not  science,  nor  the 
object  of  science,  but  is  superior  to  both,  for  they  are  not  the 
Good,  but  goodly. 

§  IX.  PLATO'S  ETHICS. 

Plato  was  a  Socratist.  Hitherto,  however,  we  have  seen  him 
following  his  master  only  in  his  Method.  The  speculations  oil 
Ideas,  Reminiscence,  Metempsychosis,  God,  etc.,  were  things  he 
did  not  learn  from  Socrates,  although  the  Socratic  Method  led 
him  to  these  conceptions.  We  have  before  seen  that  Socrates 
occupied  himself  almost  exclusively  with  Ethical  topics ;  and  it 
is  in  Ethics,  therefore,  that  we  may  expect  to  find  Plato  resem 
bling  him. 

Plato's  ethical  opinions  are  logical  rather  than  ethical ;  that 
is  to  say,  they  are  deductions  from  certain  abstract  logical  prem 
ises,  not  from  investigations  into  human  nature.  Thus,  when 
"engaged  with  the  discussion  of  particular  sciences,  he  resolves 
them  into  the  science  of  Good ;  when  engaged  with  the  partic 
ular  virtues,  he  resolves  them  into  the  virtue  of  Science."*  Every 
where  the  Good  and  the  True  are  convertible  terms,  and  Virtue 
is  the  same  as  Science.  There  is,  moreover,  considerable  contra 
diction  in  his  various  works  on  this,  as  on  other  points.  In  one 
dialogue  (Timceus)  he  advocates  Free  Will ;  in  another  (Hippias 
3/mor),  Fatalism.  Sometimes  vice  is  involuntary,  at  other 
times  voluntary :  sometimes,  indeed  generally,  vice  is  nothing 
but  ignorance ;  elsewhere,  as  we  have  shown,  vice  is  said  to  be 
partly  ignorance  and  partly  incontinence.  Virtue  is  said  to  be 

*  Archer  Butler,  Lectures^  ii.  61. 


237 

Science;  yet  Knowledge  alone  does  not  constitute  Happiness, 
nor  can  Virtue  be  taught. 

Although,  therefore,  many  passages  may  be  quoted  in  which 
morals  are  worthily  spoken  of,  we  cannot  but  regard  as  chimeri 
cal  any  attempt  to  deduce  from  them  an  ethical  system.  All 
that  can  safely  be  relied  on  is  general  views ;  such,  for  instance, 
as  his  subordination  of  Ethics  to  Dialectics.  As  M.  De  Gerando 
well  observes,  "  he  did  not  found  his  ethics  on  a  principle  of 
obligation,  on  the  definition  of  duty,  but  on  the  tendency  to  per 
fection." 

In  Plato's  Ethics  the  passions  are  entirely  set  aside ;  they  are 
regarded  as  disturbances  in  the  moral  economy.  Virtue  is  pure 
ly  a  matter  of  intelligence ;  and  the  intellect  has  therefore  not 
only  a  regulative  office,  but  the  supreme  direction  of  all  action.* 
Now,  as  Chamfort  admirably  said,  "  the  Philosopher  who  would 
set  aside  the  passions,  resembles  a  Chemist  who  would  extinguish 
his  fire."  We  are  all  aware  that  it  is  very  common  "  to  know 
the  right,  and  yet  the  wrong  pursue  ;"  that  the  passions  not  only 
disturb  the  regulative  action  of  Reason,  but  positively  triumph 
over  it ;  and  that  morals  are  our  mores,  our  habits,  as  much  as 
our  beliefs. 

The  Ethics  of  Plato  might  suit  the  inhabitants  of  another 
world ;  they  are  useless  to  the  inhabitants  of  this.  His  Politics 
are  his  Ethics  applied  to  the  State,  and  labor  under  the  same 
errors.  But  his  Utopian  Government,  the  Republic,  has  had  too 
much  celebrity  for  us  to  neglect  it. 

The  Republic  is  unquestionably  one  of  the  most  interesting  of 
his  works;  and  so  slow  has  been  the  progress  of  social  science, 
compared  with  every  other  science,  that  many  of  the  views  Plato 
has  there  put  forth  are  still  entertained  by  very  serious  thinkers ; 


*  We  cannot  interrupt  our  exposition  with  any  examples ;  they  are  too 
numerous.  But  we  may  remind  the  student  of  that  passage  in  the  Gorgias 
respecting  the  misery  of  the  unjust  man,  in  which  Plato  endeavors  to  prove 
that  he  who  does  an  injury  suffers  more  than  he  who  endures  it. 


238 

whereas  his  views  on  morals  seldom,  his  views  on  physics  never 
find  a  defender. 

The  weakness  of  man  is  the  cause  why  States  are  formed.  As 
he  cannot  suffice  to  himself,  he  must  live  in  society.  This  society 
should  be  an  image  of  man  himself.  The  faculties  which  belong 
to  him  must  find  a  proper  field  of  activity  in  society  ;  and  this 
vast  union  of  intellects  should  form  but  one  intelligence.  Thus 

O 

man's  virtues  are,  1.  (ppo'vujo'is,  wisdom ;  2.  avfysi'a,  fortitude  ;  3. 
rfw^porfuvK],  temperance ;  4.  ^xaiorfuvrj,  justice.  The  State,  there 
fore  must  have  its  Rulers,  the  philosophers,  who  will  represent 
wisdom ;  its  Soldiers,  who  will  represent  fortitude  ;  its  Craftsmen 
and  burghers,  who  will  represent  temperance.  Justice  is  a  qual 
ity  which  must  be  shared  by  all  classes,  as  lying  at  the  root  of 
all  virtuous  action. 

In  wisdom  and  justice  we  have  the  alpha  and  omega  of  Plato's 
doctrine :  justice  is  wisdom  in  act.  The  office  of  the  Rulers  is 
therefore  to  ordain  such  laws  as  will  eventually  prevent  all  in 
justice  in  the  State.  Their  first  care  will  be  to  instil  into  the 
minds  of  the  citizens  just  notions  respecting  the  Deity.  All  those 
who  attribute  to  the  Deity  the  passions  and  imperfections  of  men 
must  be  banished  :  hence  the  famous  banishment  of  the  poets, 
of  which  so  much  has  been  said.  This  law,  pushed  to  its  rigor 
ous  conclusions,  is  the  law  of  fanaticism.  Whatever  the  Rulers 
believed  respecting  Religion,  was  to  be  the  Religion  of  the  State. 
Strange  that  a  pupil  of  Socrates  should  have  advocated  a  law, 
the  operation  of  which  caused  his  master's  condemnation !  But 
there  are  other  causes  for  the  banishment  of  the  poets  besides 
their  fictions  respecting  the  Gods.  They  enervate  the  soul  by 
pictures  of  immoderate  desires;  they  give  imitations  of  the  vices 
and  follies  of  men ;  they  overstep  the  limits  of  that  moderation 
which  alone  can  balance  the  soul.  Even  the  musicians  are  to 
be  banished ;  those  at  least  who  are  plaintive  and  harmonious. 
Only  the  Dorian  and  the  Phrygian  music  can  be  admitted ;  the 
one  impetuous  and  warlike,  the  other  calm. 

There  is  a  germ  of  Stoicism  in  Plato,  and  that  germ  is  here 


239 

seen  developed.  A  measured  equability  of  mind  was  his  ideal 
of  human  happiness,  and  any  thing  which  interfered  with  it  was 
denounced.  Poetry  and  music  interfered  with  this  equability, 
and  so  did  conjugal  love.  As  the  State  could  not  subsist  with 
out  children,  children  must  be  begotten.  But  parents  are  fool 
ishly  fond  ;  they  are  avaricious  for  their  children ;  ambitious  for 
them.  Husbands  are  also  foolishly  fond.  To  prevent  these  dis 
turbances  of  good  order,  Plato  ordains  community  of  wives,  and 
interdicts  parentage.  Women  are  to  be  chosen  for  marriage  as 
brood-mares  are  chosen.  The  violent  women  to  be  assorted  to 
the  mild  men  ;  the  mild  to  be  assorted  to  violent  men.  But  the 
children  belong  to  the  State.  They  are,  therefore,  to  be  con 
signed  to  the  State  Nurses,  who  will  superintend  their  early  edu 
cation.  Because  children  manifest  different  capacities,  Plato 
thought  with  St.  Simon,  that  each  citizen  should  be  ranked  ac 
cording  to  his  capacity,  the  State  would  undertake  to  decide  to 
which  class  the  young  man  should  belong.  But,  if  domestic  life 
is  thus  at  a  blow  sacrificed  to  the  public  good,  do  not  imagine 
that  women  will  lose  their  occupations.  No  :  women  must  share 
with  men  the  toils  of  war  and  agriculture.  The  female  dog  guards 
sheep  as  well  as  the  male ;  why  should  not  the  women  guard 
the  State  ?*  And,  as  some  few  women  manifest  a  capacity  for 
philosophy,  those  few  will  share  with  men  the  government. 
With  community  of  wives  and  children,  it  is  natural  that  com 
munity  of  property  should  be  joined.  Property  is  the  great  dis 
turber  of  social  life  ;  it  engenders  crimes  and  luxuries  which  are 
scarcely  better  than  crimes.  Property,  therefore,  must  be  abol 
ished.  The  State  alone  has  riches. 

In  one  word,  the  Family,  no  less  than  the  individual,  is  sacri 
ficed  to  the  State ;  the  State  itself  being  an  Abstraction.  Like 
the  Utopists  of  modern  days,  Plato  has  developed  an  a  priori 
theory  of  what  the  State  should  be,  and  by  this  theory  all  human 
feelings  are  to  be  neglected ;  instead  of  developing  a  theory  a 

*  This  is  Plato's  own  illustration. 


240 

posteriori,  i.  e.  from  an  investigation  into  the  nature  of  human 
wants  and  feelings. 

By  thus  reducing  the  Republic  to  its  theoretical  formula,  we 
are  doubtless  viewing  it  in  its  most  unfavorable  light.  Its  value, 
and  its  interest,  do  not  consist  in  its  political  ideas,  but  in  its 
collateral  suggestions  on  education,  religion,  and  morals.  But 
these  are  beside  our  present  purpose.* 

Willingly  would  we  discourse  upon  this  remarkable  book  at 
greater  length ;  but,  although  we  have  only  touched  on  a  few 
points  connected  with  Plato,  we  have  already  exhausted  the  space 
we  could  afford,  and  must  close  here  this  imperfect  account  of 
one  of  the  greatest  minds  of  antiquity.  If  we  have  assigned  him 
his  due  position  in  the  history  of  human  development — if  we 
have  in  some  sort  presented  the  reader  with  a  clue,  whereby  he 
may  traverse  the  labyrinth  of  that  celebrated  but  much  misrep 
resented  writer — if  we  have  succeeded  in  conveying  some  im 
pression  of  the  man,  more  consonant  with  truth  than  that  usually 
accredited,  we  have  performed  our  task. 

*  In  the  Laws,  many  of  the  political  and  social  notions  are  modified  |  but 
the  general  theory  is  the  same. 


SEVENTH  EPOCH. 

PHILOSOPHY  AGAIN  REDUCED  TO  A  SYSTEM :  CLOSE  OF  THE 
SOCR ATIC  MO VEMENT.  —ARISTOTLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 
ARISTOTLE. 

§  I.    LIFE  OF  ARISTOTLE. 

WHEN  Plato  was  leaving  Athens  for  the  journey  into  Sicily, 
of  which  we  have  spoken,  and  which  occupied  him  three  years 
or  more,  Aristotle  appeared  in  that  active  city,  a  restless  youth 
of  seventeen ;  rich  both  in  money  and  in  knowledge,  eager,  im 
petuous,  truth-loving,  and  insatiable  in  his  thirst  for  philosophy. 
Tidings  of  the  wondrous  men  who  made  that  city  illustrious,  and 
whose  fame  still  sheds  a  halo  round  its  ruins,  had  reached  him 
in  his  native  land  ;  tidings  of  the  great  thinkers  and  the  crowded 
schools  had  lured  him,  though  so  young,  to  Athens. 

Aristotle  was  born  at  Stagira,  a  colony  in  Thrace,  Olympiad 
99  (B.  c.  384.)  His  father,  Nicomachus,  was  an  eminent  physi 
cian,  who  had  written  several  works  on  medicine  and  natural 
history,  so  that  Aristotle's  love  of  such  subjects  may  be  called 
hereditary.  And  this  hereditary  love  so  conspicuous  in  the  mar 
vellous  results  of  the  two  treatises  on  the  History  of  Animals 
and  the  Parts  of  Animals — works  which  modern  science  is  daily 
enabling  us  to  appreciate  better — may  have  been  fostered  by  the 
opportunities  Stagira  offered  him  in  his  boyhood.  It  was  a  town 
on  the  western  side  of  the  Strymonic  Gulf,  just  where  the  general 

11 


24:2  ARISTOTLE. 

line  of  coast  takes  a  southerly  direction.  Immediately  south,  a 
promontory  ran  out  towards  the  east,  effectually  screening  the 
town  and  its  little  harbor  Capros  (formed  by  the  island  of  the 
same  name),  from  the  violence  of  the  squalls  coming  up  the 
JEgean.  "  In  the  terraced  windings  too,  by  which  the  visitor 
climbs  through  the  orange  groves  of  Sorento,  he  may  without 
any  great  violence  imagine  the  narrow  and  steep  paths  by  which 
an  ancient  historian  and  chorographer  describes  those  who  crossed 
the  mountains  out  of  Macedonia,  as  descending  into  the  valley  of 
Arethusa,  where  was  seen  the  tomb  of  Euripides  and  the  town  of 
Stagira."* 

Aristotle,  losing  his  parents  at  an  early  age,  was  consigned  to 
the  care  of  a  certain  Proxenus,  who  had  him  instructed  in  all  the 
physical  knowledge  of  the  time.  Proxenus  died,  and  Aristotle 
then  fulfilled  his  desire  of  seeing  Athens. 

During  the  three  years  of  Plato's  absence  Aristotle  was  not 
idle.  He  prepared  himself  to  be  a  worthy  pupil.  His  wealth 
enabled  him  to  purchase  those  costly  luxuries,  Books — there  was 
no  cheap  Literature  in  those  days — and  in  them  he  studied  the 
speculations  of  the  early  thinkers,  with  a  zeal  and  intelligence  of 
which  his  own  writings  bear  ample  evidence.  There  were  also 
some  friends  and  followers  of  Socrates  and  Plato  still  at  Athens : 
men  who  had  listened  to  the  entrancing  conversation  of  the  "  old 
man  eloquent,"  who  could  still  remember  with  a  smile  his  keen 
and  playful  irony ;  and  others  who  were  acquainted  with  some 
of  the  deep  thoughts  brooding  in  the  melancholy  soul  of  Plato. 
These  Aristotle  eagerly  questioned,  and  from  them  prepared  him 
self  to  receive  the  lessons  of  his  future  teacher. 

Plato  returned.  His  school  was  opened,  and  Aristotle  joined 
the  crowd  of  his  disciples,  amongst  whom  the  penetrating  glance 
of  the  master  soon  detected  the  immortal  pupil.  Plato  saw  that 
the  impetuous  youth  needed  the  curb ;  but  there  was  promise  of 
greatness  in  that  very  need.  His  restless  activity  was  charac- 

*  Blakesley's  Life  of  Aristotle,  p.  12. 


LIFE    OF    ARISTOTLE.  243 

terized  by  Plato  in  an  epithet :  "  Aristotle  is  the  Mind  of  my 
school." 

Aristotle  continued  to  listen  to  Plato  for  seventeen  years ;  that 
is,  till  the  death  of  the  latter.  But  he  did  not  confine  himself  to 
the  Platonic  Philosophy  :  nor  did  he  entirely  agree  with  it.  And 
from  this  disagreement  has  arisen  the  vulgar  notion  of  a  personal 
disagreement  between  Master  and  Pupil :  a  notion,  to  be  sure, 
propped  up  with  pretended  anecdotes,  and  refuted  by  others 
equally  authentic.  Much  has  been  written  on  this  quarrel,  and 
on  what  people  call  Aristotle's  ingratitude.  We  place  no  reli 
ance  on  it.  The  same  thing  was  said  of  Plato  with  respect  to 
Socrates ;  and  we  have  excellent  reasons  for  treating  that  as  cal 
umny.  In  his  writings  Aristotle  doubtless  combats  the  opinion 
of  Plato ;  but  he  always  mentions  him  with  respect,  sometimes 
with  tenderness.  If  that  be  ingratitude,  it  is  such  as  all  pupils 
have  manifested  who  have  not  been  slavish  followers.* 

It  was  a  wise  thought  of  Macedonian  Philip  to  give  his  son 
Alexander  such  a  preceptor  as  Aristotle.  For  four  years  was  the 
illustrious  pupil  instructed  by  the  illustrious  master  in  poetry, 
rhetoric,  and  philosophy ;  and,  when  Alexander  departed  on  his 
Indian  expedition,  a  scholar  of  Aristotle's,  one  Calisthenes,  attend 
ed  him.f  Both  from  Philip  and  from  Alexander,  the  Stagirite 
received  munificent  assistance  in  all  his  undertakings  :  especially 
in  the  collection  of  natural  curiosities,  which  were  selected  from 
captured  provinces,  to  form  the  materials  of  the  History  of  Ani 
mals. 

"The  conqueror  is  said,  in  Athenseus,  to  have  presented  his 
master  with  the  sum  of  eight  hundred  talents  (about  two  hun 
dred  thousand  pounds  sterling)  to  meet  the  expenses  of  his  His 
tory  of  Animals,  and,  enormous  as  the  sum  is,  it  is  only  in  pro- 


*  The  question  is  discussed  with  ability  by  Mr.  Blakesley  in  his  Life  of 
Aristotle,  pp.  24-28.  See  also  Stahr's  article  on  Aristotle  in  the  Dictionary 
of  Greek  and  Roman  Biography. 

t  The  story  that  Aristotle  himself  accompanied  Alexander  is  now  univer 
sally  discredited. 


244  ARISTOTLE. 

portion  to  the  accounts  we  have  of  the  vast  wealth  acquired  by 
the  plunder  of  the  Persian  treasures.  Pliny  also  relates  that 
some  thousands  of  men  were  placed  at  his  disposal  for  the  pur 
pose  of  procuring  zoological  specimens,  which  served  as  materi 
als  for  this  celebrated  treatise."*  However  he  acquired  his 
materials,  it  is  becoming  daily  more  evident  that  his  work  was 
based  on  direct  knowledge,  on  actual  inspection  and  dissection, 
not,  as  in  Pliny's  case,  on  what  others  reported.  Several  of  the 
most  astonishing  discoveries  of  modern  naturalists  are  found  to 
have  been  distinctly  known  to  Aristotle  ;  and  even  on  such  subtle 
questions  as  the  affinities  of  animals,  we  are  sometimes  forced  to 
come  round  to  his  classification.  "Thus,  in  the  end,"  says  Pro 
fessor  Forbes,  in  summing  up  his  discussion  on  the  classification 
of  Acalephs,  "  we  revert  curiously  enough  to  the  views  of  the 
affinities  of  these  Animals  proposed  by  Aristotle,  who  plainly  in 
cluded  under  the  designation  of  axccX-/)*^,  both  Actinia  and  Me 
dusa  :  not  from  any  vague  guess,  or  in  compliance  with  the  popu 
lar  recognition  of  their  resemblance,  but  from  a  careful  study  of 
their  structure  and  habits,  as  the  varied  notices  preserved  to  us 
in  the  first,  fourth,  and  fifth,  eighth,  and  ninth  books  of  the  His 
tory  of  Animals  prove  beyond  question."! 

After  a  long  interval  Aristotle  returned  to  Athens  and  opened 
a  school  in  the  Lyceum  :  a  school  which  eclipsed  all  the  others 
both  in  numbers  and  importance.  It  is  curiously  illustrative  of 
his  restless  vivacious  temperament  that  he  could  not  stand  still 
and  lecture,  but  delivered  his  opinions  whilst  walking  up  and 
down  the  shady  paths  of  the  Lyceum,  attended  by  his  eager  fol 
lowers.  Hence  his  disciples  were  called  the  "Walking  Philoso 
phers — Peripatetics. 

Mr.  Blakesley  thinks  that  it  was  Aristotle's  delicate  health 
which,  combined  with  the  wish  to  economize  time,  induced  him 


*  Blakesley,  p.  68. 

t  Forbes,  Monograph  of  the  Naked- Eyed  Medusa.',  p.  88.  On  the  subject  of 
Aristotle's  zoological  knowledge  generally,  see  Meyer,  Aristotelis  Thierkunde, 
1855,  and  De  Blainville,  Ilistoire  des  Sciences  dc  V  Organisation,  1S45. 


LIFE    OF    AKISTOTLE.  245 

to  lecture  while  walking.  Diogenes  Laertius  attributes  its  origin 
to  a  regard  for  the  health  of  his  pupil,  Alexander.  The  point  is 
unimportant ;  enough  for  us  to  know  that  he  did  lecture  while 
walking  to  and  fro  along  the  shady  paths  of  the  Lyceum.  Pro 
tagoras,  as  Mr.  Blakesley  reminds  us,  is  represented  by  Plato  as 
teaching  in  the  same  way ;  although  not  perhaps  so  systemati 
cally  as  Aristotle. 

His  lectures  were  of  two  kinds,  scientific  and  popular — acroa- 
matic  or  acroatic,  and  exoteric.  The  former  were  for  the  more  ad 
vanced  students,  and  those  who  were  capable  of  pursuing  scientific 
subjects  :  he  delivered  these  in  the  morning.  The  latter  were  after 
noon  lectures  to  a  much  larger  class,  and  treated  of  popular  sub 
jects — rhetoric,  politics,  and  sophistics.  Much  learning  and  in 
genuity  has  been  thrown  away  in  the  endeavor  to  determine  the 
precise  nature  of  these  two  kinds  of  instruction  ;  but  we  cannot 
here  discuss  it.  Those  who  conclude  that  the  distinction  between 
the  esoteric  and  exoteric  was  a  distinction  of  doctrine  seem  to  us 
in  error ;  the  distinction  was,  as  above  stated,  purely  that  of  sub 
ject-matter.  Dialectics  and  Poetics  are  not  addressed  to  the 
same  hearers. 

He  spent  a  long  laborious  life  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  and 
wrote  an  incredible  number  of  works,  about  a  fourth  of  which 
it  is  calculated  are  extant;  the  division,  arrangement,  and  au 
thenticity  of  which  has  long  been  a  pet  subject  of  contention 
among  scholars;  but,  as  no  agreement  has  yet  been  effected, 
we  should  have  to  swell  our  pages  with  arguments  rather  than 
results. 

The  influence  these  works,  spurious  as  well  as  genuine,  have 
exercised  on  European  culture,  is  incalculable,  and  we  shall  here 
after  have  to  speak  of  the  tyranny  of  this  influence.  Nor  was 
it  alone  over  European  culture  they  exercised  a  despotic  sway. 
"  Translated  in  the  fifth  century  of  the  Christian  era  into  the 
Syriac  language  by  the  Nestorians  who  fled  into  Persia,  and  from 
Syriac  into  Arabic  four  hundred  years  later,  his  writings  furnish 
ed  the  Mohammedan  conquerors  of  the  East  with  a  germ  of  sci- 


246  ARISTOTLE. 

ence  which,  but  for  the  effect  of  their  religious  and  political  in 
stitutions,  might  have  shot  up  into  as  tall  a  tree  as  it  did  produce 
in  the  west;  while  his  logical  works,  in  the  Latin  translation 
which  Boethius,  '  the  last  of  the  Romans,'  bequeathed  as  a  lega 
cy  to  posterity,  formed  the  basis  of  that  extraordinary  phenome 
non,  the  Philosophy  of  the  Schoolmen.  An  empire  like  this, 
extending  over  nearly  twenty  centuries  of  time,  sometimes  more, 
sometimes  less  despotically,  but  always  with  great  force,  recog 
nized  in  Bagdad  and  in  Cordova,  in  Egypt  and  in  Britain,  and 
leaving  abundant  traces  of  itself  in  the  language  and  modes 
of  thought  of  every  European  nation,  is  assuredly  without  a  par 
allel."* 

§  II.  ARISTOTLE'S  METHOD. 

Plato  and  Aristotle  may  be  said  to  contain  all  the  speculative 
philosophy  of  Greece  :  whoso  knows  them,  knows  all  that  Greece 
had  to  teach.  It  is  not  our  plan  to  draw  comparisons  between 
the  greatness  of  two  great  men,  otherwise  these  two  would  fur 
nish  a  happy  subject.  We  have  endeavored  to  point  out  in  what 
way  Plato  advanced  the  Philosophy  of  his  age.  We  have  now 
to  do  the  same  by  Aristotle. 

Aristotle  was  the  most  learned  man  of  antiquity,  but  this  learn- 
v  ing  did  not  enervate  the  vigor  of  his  mind.  He  studiously 
sought,  both  in  books  and  in  external  nature,  for  materials  where 
with  to  build  a  doctrine.  Before  laying  down  his  own  views  he 
always  examines  the  views  of  his  predecessors  with  tedious  mi 
nuteness  ;  and  his  own  opinions  often  seem  brought  out  in  his 
criticisms  rather  than  dogmatically  affirmed.  Hence  some  have 
declared  his  Method  to  be  the  historical  Method ;  a  misconcep 
tion  not  to  be  wondered  at  when  we  consider  the  abundance  of 
historical  detail,  and  the  absence  of  any  express  definition  of  his 
Method  in  his  writings. 

Unlike  Plato,  Aristotle  never  mentions  the  nature  of  his  Meth- 

*  Blakesley,  p.  i. 


247 

od  ;  but  he  has  one,  and  we  must  detect  it.  We  may  expect  to 
find  it  somewhat  resembling  that  of  his  master,  with  some  modi 
fications  of  his  own.  Plato,  as  Van  Ileusde,  in  the  Initia  Pla- 
tonicce  remarks,  stands  a  middle  point  between  Socrates  and  Aris 
totle.  The  Method  of  Socrates  was  one  of  Investigation ;  that 
of  Aristotle  was  one  of  Demonstration.  The  Definition  and  In 
duction  of  Socrates  were  powerful,  but  vague ;  the  syllogism  of 
Aristotle  rendered  them  powerful  and  precise.  Plato,  as  it  were, 
fills  up  the  gap  between  these  two  thinkers ;  by  the  addition  of 
Analysis  and  Classification  he  reduced  the  Socratic  Method  to  a 
more  systematic  form,  and  gave  it  precision.  Where  Plato  left 
it,  Aristotle  took  it  up ;  and,  by  still  further  modifications,  all 
of  which  had  but  one  aim, — i.  e.  greater  precision, — he  gave  it  a 
solidity  which  enabled  it  to  endure  for  centuries. 

Wherein  did  Plato  and  Aristotle  fundamentally  differ?  Un 
til  the  time  of  Hegel  the  general  explanation  of  this  difference  was 
briefly  to  this  effect :  Plato  is  an  Idealist,  Aristotle  a  Materialist ; 
the  one  a  Rationalist,  the  other  an  Empiric :  one  trusting  solely 
to  Reason,  the  other  solely  to  Experience.  This  explanation  He 
gel  refuted  by  showing,  that  although  Aristotle  laid  more  stress 
upon  experience  than  did  Plato,  yet  he  also  expressly  taught  that 
Reason  alone  could  form  science.* 

Let  us,  then,  try  if  we  can  penetrate  the  real  difference.  And 
to  do  so,  we  must  first  ask,  What  was  the  fundamental  position 
of  the  Platonic  doctrine  ?  That  question  admits  of  but  one  an 
swer.  The  root  of  Plato's  philosophy  is  the  theory  of  Ideas, 
whereby  Dialectics  became  science.  If  here  Aristotle  be  found  to 
agree  with  his  master,  there  can  be  no  fundamental  difference 
between  them;  if  here  he  be  found  to  differ,  we  may  be  able  to 
deduce  from  it  all  other  differences. 

Aristotle  radically  opposed  the  Ideal  theory ;  and  the  greater 
part -of  his  criticisms  of  Plato  are  criticisms  of  that  theory.  He 
does  not  deny  to  Ideas  a  subjective  existence  :  on  the  contrary, 

*  Hegel,  GcscMekU  d«r  Pldlos.  ii.  311  sq* 


248  ARISTOTLE. 

he  makes  them  the  materials  of  science  ;  but  he  is  completely  op 
posed  to  their  objective  existence,  calling  it  an  empty  and  poeti 
cal  metaphor.  He  says,  that  on  the  supposition  of  Ideas  being 
Existences  and  Models,  there  would  be  several  Models  for  the 
same  Thing ;  since  the  same  thing  may  be  classed  under  several 
heads.  Thus,  Socrates  may  be  classed  under  the  Ideas  of  Soc 
rates,  of  Man,  of  Animal,  and  of  Biped  ;  or  Philosopher,  General, 
and  Statesman.  The  "  stout  Stagirite "  not  only  perceived  the 
logical  error  of  the  Ideal  theory,  but  also  saw  how  the  error  origi 
nated.  He  profoundly  remarked,  that  Ideas  are  nothing  but 
productions  of  the  Reason,  separating,  by  a  logical  abstraction, 
the  particular  objects  from  those  relations  which  are  common  to 
them  all.  He  saw  that  Plato  had  mistaken  a  subjective  distinc 
tion  for  an  objective  one ;  had  mistaken  a  relation,  which  the 
understanding  perceived  between  two  objects,  for  the  evidence  of 
a  separate  existence.  The  partisans  of  the  theory  of  Ideas,  Aris 
totle  likens  to  those  who,  having  to  enumerate  the  exact  number 
of  things,  commence  by  increasing  the  number,  as  a  way  of  sim 
plifying  the  calculation.  In  this  caustic  illustration  we  may  see 
the  nature  of  his  objection  to  the  Platonic  doctrine.  What,  in 
deed,  was  the  Ideal  theory,  but  a  multiplication  of  the  number  of 
Existences  ?  Men  had  before  imagined  that  things  were  great, 
and  heavy,  and  black  or  brown.  Plato  separated  the  qualities 
of  greatness,  weight,  and  color,  aud  made  these  qualities  new  ex 
istences. 

Having  disproved  the  notion  of  Ideas  being  Existences, — in 
other  words,  of  General  Terms  being  any  thing  more  than  the 
expressions  of  the  Relations  of  individual  things, — Aristotle  was 
driven  to  maintain  that  the  Individual  Things  alone  existed.  But, 
if  only  individuals  exist,  only  by  sensation  can  they  be  known  ; 
and,  if  we  know  them  by  sensation,  how  is  the  universal.  TO 
xodoXou,  ever  known — how  do  we  get  abstract  ideas  ?  This  ques 
tion  was  the  more  pertinent  because  science  could  only  be  a  sci 
ence  of  the  Universal,  or,  as  we  moderns  say,  a  science  of  general 
truths ;  now  inasmuch  as  Aristotle  agreed  with  Plato  in  main- 


249 

taining  that  sense  cannot  furnish  us  with  science,*  which  is  always 
founded  on  general  truths  (Universals),  it  was  needful  for  him  to 
show  how  we  could  gain  scientific  knowledge. 

Plato's  solution  of  the  problem  has  already  been  exhibited;  it 
was  the  ingenious  doctrine  of  the  soul's  reminiscence  of  a  former 
apprehension  of  truth,  awakened  by  those  traces  of  Ideas  which 
sensation  discovered  in  Things.  This  solution  did  not  satisfy 
Aristotle.  He,  too,  was  aware  that  reminiscence  was  indispensa 
ble;  but  by  it  he  meant  reminiscence  of  previous  experience, 
not  of  an  anterior  state  of  existence  in  the  world  of  Ideas.  By 
sensation  we  perceive  particular  things ;  by  induction  we  perceive 
the  general  in  the  particular.  Sensation  is  the  basis  of  all  knowl 
edge  :  but  we  have  another  faculty  besides  that  of  sensation ;  we 
have  Memory.  Having  perceived  many  things,  we  remember 
our  sensations,  and  by  that  remembrance  we  are  enabled  to  dis 
cern  wherein  things  resemble  and  wherein  they  differ ;  and  this 
Memory  then  becomes  an  art  whereby  a  general  conception  is 
formed :  this  art  is  Induction.  The  natural  method  of  investi 
gation,  he  says,  is  to  collect  all  the  facts  or  particulars,  and  after 
wards  deduce  from  these  the  general  causes  of  all  things  and 
their  actions.f  This  is  accomplished  by  Induction,  which  he 
aptly  calls  the  pathway  from  particulars  to  generals — s^ayuyrt 
dy  TJ  ct<ro  TOJV  xa$s'xa0Va  stfi  rot  xa$6Xou  !'qpo$o£.J  Man  alone  has 
this  art.  The  distinction  between  brutes  and  men  is,  that  the 
former,  although  they  have  Memory,  have  no  Experience ;  that 
is  to  say,  have  not  the  art  which  converts  Memory  into  Experi 
ence — the  art  of  Induction.  Man  is  the  reasoning  animal. 

That  Aristotle  meant  Induction  by  the  art  of  which  he  speaks 
as  furnished  by  experience,  may  be  proved  by  one  luminous 
passage  of  the  Metaphysics.  "Art  commences  when,  from  a 
great  number  of  Experiences,  one  general  conception  is  formed 

*  Analyt.  Post.  i.  81. 
t  Ibid.  ;  comp.  also  Hist.  Animal,  i.  6. 

\  Topic,  i.  10.  comp.  what  Coleridge  says  on  Method  as  a  path  of  Transit, 
Discourse  on  Method  affixed  to  Encydop.  Metropolitans. 

11* 


250  ARISTOTLE'S  METHOD. 

which  will  embrace  all  similar  cases.*  And,  lest  there  should 
be  any  misunderstanding  of  his  definition,  he  proceeds  to  illus 
trate  it.  "  Thus,  if  you  know  that  a  certain  remedy  has  cured 
Callias  of  a  certain  disease,  and  that  the  same  remedy  has  pro 
duced  the  same  effect  on  Socrates,  and  on  several  other  persons, 
that  is  Experience  ;  but  to  know  that  a  certain  remedy  will  cure 
all  persons  attacked  with  that  disease  is  Art  :  for  Experience  is 
the  knowledge  of  individual  things  (<rwv  xads'xaoVa)  ;  Art  is  that 
of  Universals  (rwv  xa$oXou)." 

The  commencement  of  Positive  Science  —  the  awakening  to  an 
appreciation  of  the  nature  and  processes  of  Science  —  lies  in  that 
passage.  In  the  Socratic  conception  of  Induction  we  saw  little 
more  than  Analogical  Reasoning;  but  in  this  Aristotelian  con 
ception  we  see  the  Collection  of  Instances,  and  the  generalization 
from  those  Instances  which  Science  claims  as  part  of  its  Method. 
Nor  was  this  a  random  guess  of  the  old  Stagirite's  :  it  was  the 
logical  deduction  from  his  premises  respecting  knowledge.  Hear 
him  again  :  "  Experience  furnishes  the  principles  of  every  science. 
Thus  Astronomy  is  grounded  on  observation  ;  for,  if  we  were  pro 
perly  to  observe  the  celestial  phenomena,  we  might  demonstrate 
the  laivs  which  regulate  them.  The  same  applies  to  other  sci 
ences.  If  we  omit  nothing  that  observation  can  afford  us  respect 
ing  phenomena,  we  could  easily  furnish  the  demonstration  of  all 
that  admits  of  being  demonstrated,  and  illustrate  that  which  is 
not  susceptible  of  demonstration."!  And,  in  another  place,  when 
abandoned  in  his  investigation  by  phenomena,  he  will  not  hazard 
an  assertion.  "  We  must  wait,"  he  says,  "  for  further  phenomena, 
since  phenomena  are  more  to  be  trusted  than  the  conclusion  of 
reason." 

Looked  at  in  a  general  way,  the  Aristotelian  Method  seems  to 
be  the  Method  of  positive  Science  ;  but  on  closer  meditation  we 
shall  detect  their  germinal  difference  to  be  the  omission  in  Aris- 


TivtTat  <     Ti%vri  orav  IK  Trow 
jtepi  TUIV  bpoluiv  iiTroA^i^jj,  Met.  i.  1. 
t  Analyt.  Prior,  i.  30. 


251 

totle  of  the  principle,  so  much  insisted  on  in  the  Introduction  to 
this  History,  namely,  the  rigorous  Verification  of  each  inductive 
step.  The  value  of  the  truth  expressed  by  a  syllogism  does  not 
consist  solely  in  its  accurate  distribution,  but  also  in  the  accuracy 
of  its  major  premise  :  we  may  form  unexceptionable  Syllogisms 
which  shall  be  absurdly  erroneous,  as  when  we  say,  All  black 
birds  are  crows;  This  bird  is  black:  frgo,  This  bird  is  a  crow. 
In  the  physical  and  metaphysical  speculations  of  the  ancients, 
we  are  constantly  meeting  with  syllogisms  as  perfect  as  this, — 
and  as  absurd ;  because  the  ancients  generally  threw  their  in 
genuity  into  logical  deduction,  and  scarcely  ever  into  preliminary 
verification.  When  Aristotle  therefore  lays  down  as  a  canon  the 
necessity  of  ascertaining  generals  from  an  examination  of  partic 
ulars,  his  canon,  admirable  indeed,  needs  to  be  accompanied  by 
a  distinct  recognition  of  the  equal  necessity  of  verification.  Con 
trasted  with  the  Platonic  Method,  Aristotle's  is  seen  to  great  ad 
vantage.  Plato,  believing  that  the  stimulus  awakened  by  a  single 
idea  would  enable  a  man  to  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  all  ideas, 
in  consequence  of  the  necessary  connection  supposed  to  exist  be 
tween  them,  could  very  well  dispense  with  Induction.  But  Aris 
totle  maintained  that  the  completeness  of  knowledge  is  only  ob 
tainable  through  completeness  of  experience ;  every  single  idea  is 
awakened  in  us  by  a  separate  sensation,  and  only  on  a  compari 
son  of  like  and  unlike  in  phenomena  are  differences  perceived. 
He  complains  of  Plato  very  justly,  for  neglecting  details  in  haste 
to  judge  of  universals. 

Aristotle  had,  therefore,  a  novel  and  profound  conception  of 
scientific  Method  ;  but  because  he  did  not — and,  indeed,  in  that 
age  could  not — confine  himself  to  Experience  and  the  generaliza 
tions  of  Experience,  he  could  not  effectually  carry  out  his  own 
scheme.  His  conception  was  just ;  but  the  application  of  such  a 
Method  could  have  led  him  only  a  short  way,  because  there  was 
not  sufficient  Experience  then  accumulated,  from  which  to  gener 
alize  with  any  effect.  Hence  his  speculations  are  not  always 
carried  on  upon  the  Method  which  he  himself  laid  down.  Im- 


252 

patient  at  the  insufficiency  of  facts,  he  jumps  to  a  conclusion. 
Eager,  as  all  men  are,  to  solve  the  problems  which  present  them 
selves,  he  solved  them  a  priori.  He  applied  his  syllogism  before 
he  had  verified  the  exactitude  of  his  premises. 

The  distinction  between  Aristotle  and  Plato  is,  that  while  both 
admitted  that  science  could  only  be  formed  from  Universals,  <ra 
xa^oXou,  Aristotle  contended  that  such  Universals  had  purely  a 
.subjective  existence,  i.  e.  that  they  were  nothing  more  than  the 
inductions  derived  from  particular  facts.  He,  therefore,  made 
Experience  the  basis  of  all  Science,  and  Reason  the  Architect. 
Plato  made  Reason  the  basis.  The  tendency  of  the  one  was  to 
direct  man  to  the  observation  and  interrogation  of  Nature ;  that 
of  the  other  was  to  direct  nTan  to  the  contemplation  of  Ideas. 

The  distinction  between  Aristotle  and  Bacon  is,  that  while 
they  both  insist  upon  the  observation  and  generalization  of  facts, 
as  alone  capable  of  furnishing  correct  ideas,  Aristotle  believed 
that  he  could  observe  those  primary  facts  of  Existence  and  Cause, 
which  Bacon  wisely  declared  beyond  the  human  ken.  While 
both  insisted  on  the  necessity  of  experience,  while  both  saw  that 
the  science  of  the  "  general"  must  be  framed  from  the  inductions 
of  the  particular,  they  differed  profoundly  as  to  the  nature  of  that 
"general."  Bacon  endeavored  in  particular  facts  to  trace  the 
general  laws ;  Aristotle  endeavored  in  particular  facts  to  trace 
the  general  ideas. 

To  understand  this,  we  must  cast  a  glance  at  Aristotle's  Logic. 

§  III.  ARISTOTLE'S  LOGIC. 

It  is  often  remarked,  that  Aristotle's  use  of  the  word  Dialectics 
differs  from  Plato's  use  of  it.  Indeed,  with  Plato,  dialectics  was 
the  science  of  Being  •  with  Aristotle,  it  was  no  more  than  the  in 
strument  of  Thought.  But  it  is  highly  necessary  that  we  should 
clearly  understand  the  position  occupied  by  Logic  in  the  Aristo 
telian  philosophy;  the  more  so  as  after-ages  prized  the  Logic 
above  all  his  other  works. 

Logic  is  the  science  of  Affirmation  ;  Affirmation  is  the  active 


253 

operation  of  the  Mind  on  that  which  sensation  has  presented  to 
it;  in  other  words,  Affirmation  is  Thought.  Affirmations  may 
be  true  or  false  :  there  can  be  no  falsehood  in  Sensation.  If  you 

^  have  a  sensation  of  an  object,  it  must  be  a  true  sensation;  but 
you  may  affirm  something  false  of  it.  Every  single  thought  is 

\  true,  but  when  you  connect  two  thoughts  together,  that  is,  when 
you  affirm  something  of  another  thing,  you  may  affirm  that  which 
is  false.  Every  thing,  therefore,  that  you  think  about  may  be  re 
duced  to  a  Proposition  ;  in  fact,  thoughts  are  a  series  of  Proposi 
tions.  To  understand  the  whole  nature  of  Propositions — to  un 
derstand  the  whole  Art  of  Thinking — is  the  province  of  Logic. 

By  a  very  natural  confusion,  Aristotle,  thus  convinced  of  the 
importance  of  language,  was  led  to  maintain  that  truth  or  false 
hood  did  not  depend  upon  things,  but  upon  words,  or  rather  up 
on  combinations  of  words — upon  Propositions.  Logic,  therefore, 
to  him,  as  to  Plato,  though  in  a  different  way,  became  the  real 
Organon  of  Science.  But,  as  John  Mill  remarks,  "  the  distinc 
tion  between  real  and  nominal  definitions,  between  definitions  of 
words  and  what  are  called  definitions  of  things,  though  conform 
able  to  the  ideas  of  most  Aristotelian  logicians,  cannot,  as  it  ap 
pears  to  us,  be  maintained.  We  apprehend  that  no  definition 
is  ever  intended  to  explain  and  unfold  the  nature  of  the  thing. 
It  is  some  confirmation  of  our  opinion  that  none  of  those  writers 
who  have  thought  that  there  were  definitions  of  things  have  ever 
succeeded  in  discovering  any  criterion  by  which  the  definition  of 
a  thing  can  be  distinguished  from  any  other  proposition  relating 
to  that  thing.  The  definition,  they  say,  unfolds  the  nature  of  the 
thing :  but  no  definition  can  unfold  its  whole  nature ;  and  every 
proposition  in  which  any  quality  whatever  is  predicated  of  the 
thing  unfolds  some  part  of  its  nature.  The  true  state  of  the  case 
we  take  to  be  this :  All  definitions  are  of  names,  and  of  names 
only ;  but,  in  some  definitions,  it  is  clearly  apparent  that  nothing 
is  intended  except  to  explain  the  meaning  of  the  word  ;  while,  in 
others,  besides  explaining  the  meaning  of  the  word,  it  is  intended 
to  be  implied  that  there  exists  a  thing  corresponding  to  the 


254 

word.  Whether  this  be  or  be  not  implied  in  any  given  case, 
cannot  be  collected  from  the  mere  form  of  expression.  '  A  cen 
taur  is  an  animal  with  the  upper  parts  of  a  man  and  the  lower 
parts  of  a  horse,'  and  'a  triangle  is  a  rectilineal  figure  with  three 
sides,'  are,  in  form,  expressions  precisely  similar;  although,  in  the 
former,  it  is  not  implied  that  any  thing  conformable  to  the  term 
really  exists,  while  in  the  latter  it  is ;  as  may  be  seen  by  substi 
tuting,  in  both  definitions,  the  word  means  for  is.  In  the  first 
expression,  '  a  centaur  means  an  animal,'  etc.,  the  sense  would 
remain  unchanged  :  in  the  second,  '  a  triangle  means,'  etc.,  the 
meaning  would  be  altered,  since  it  would  be  obviously  impossible 
to  deduce  any  of  the  truths  of  geometry  from  a  proposition  ex 
pressive  only  of  the  manner  in  which  we  intend  to  employ  a  par 
ticular  sign. 

"  There  are,  therefore,  expressions  commonly  passing  for  defi 
nitions  which  include  in  themselves  more  than  the  mere  explana 
tion  of  the  meaning  of  a  term.  But  it  is  not  correct  to  call  an 
expression  of  this  sort  a  peculiar  kind  of  definition.  Its  difference 
from  the  other  kind  consists  in  this,  that  it  is  not  a  definition,  but 
a  definition  and  something  more.  The  definition  given  above  of 
a  triangle,  obviously  comprises  not  one,  but  two  propositions,  per 
fectly  distinguishable.  The  one  is,  'There  may  exist  a  figure 
bounded  by  three  straight  lines  ;'  the  other,  *  and  this  figure  may 
be  termed  a  triangle.'  The  former  of  these  propositions  is  not 
a  definition  at  all ;  the  latter  is  a  mere  nominal  definition  or  ex 
planation  of  the  use  and  application  of  a  term.  The  first  is 
susceptible  of  truth  or  falsehood,  and  may  therefore  be  made 
the  foundation  of  a  train  of  reasoning.  The  latter  can  nei 
ther  be  true  nor  false ;  the  only  character  it  is  susceptible  of,  is 
that  of  conformity  or  disconformity  to  the  ordinary  usage  of  lan 
guage. 

"  There  is  a  real  distinction,  then,  between  definitions  of  names 
and  what  are  erroneously  called  definitions  of  things ;  but  it  is 
that  the  latter,  along  with  the  meaning  of  a  name,  covertly  as 
serts  a  matter  of  fact.  This  covert  assertion  is  not  a  definition, 


ARISTOTLE'S  LOGIC.  255 

but  a  postulate.  The  definition  is  a  mere  identical  proposition, 
which  gives  information  only  about  the  use  of  language,  and 
from  which  no  conclusions  respecting  matters  of  fact  can  pos 
sibly  be  drawn.  The  accompanying  postulate,  on  the  other 
hand,  affirms  a  fact  which  may  lead  to  consequences  of  every 
degree  of  importance.  It  affirms  the  real  existence  of  things 
possessing  the  combination  of  attributes  set  forth  in  the  defini 
tion  ;  and  this,  if  true,  may  be  foundation  sufficient  to  build  a 
whole  fabric  of  scientific  truth."* 

This  profound  and  luminous  distinction  was  not  seen  by 
Aristotle,  and  his  whole  system  was  vitiated  in  consequence  of 
the  oversight.  He  thought  that  Logic  was  not  only  the  Instru 
ment  of  Thought,  but,  as  such,  the  Instrument  of  investigating 
Causes.  In  his  Logic  the  first  place  was  occupied  by  the  cele 
brated  Categories.  They  are  ten  in  number,  and  are  as  follows : 

Ovffia Substance. 

Tl6<Tov Quantity. 

Tloiov Quality. 

ripdf  ri Relation. 

Hoitlv Action. 

Udffxttv Passion. 

Uov The  where. 

riore The  when. 

Kuadai Position  in  space. 

vE%£ii> Possession. 

These  Categories,  or,  as  the  Latin  writers  say,  Predicaments, 
were  intended  to  be  an  enumeration  of  those  classes  or  genera, 
under  some  of  which  every  thing  was  to  be  reduced.  They 
were  held  to  be  the  most  universal  expressions  for  the  various 
relations  of  things;  they  could  not  further  be  analyzed,  but 
remained  the  fundamental  definitions  of  things.  It  is,  however, 
as  has  been  remarked,!  a  mere  catalogue  of  the  distinctions 
rudely  marked  out  by  the  language  of  familiar  life,  with  little  or 
no  attempt  to  penetrate,  by  philosophic  analysis,  to  the  rationale 
even  of  those  common  distinctions.  Such  an  analysis,  however 

*  System  of  Logic,  i.  195-7.  t  Mill's  System  of  Logic,  i.  60. 


256 

superficially  conducted,  would  have  shown  the  enumeration  to 
be  both  redundant  and  defective.  Some  objects  are  omitted, 
and  others  repeated  several  times  under  different  heads.  It  is 
like  a  division  of  animals  into  men,  quadrupeds,  horses,  asses, 
and  ponies. 

The  remark  is  just,  and  would  have  been  admitted  as  just  by 
Aristotle  himself,  since  he  does  not  pretend  the  classification  is 
complete,  but  confesses  that  the  same  object  may,  under  dif 
ferent  categories,  be  at  once  a  quality  and  a  relation.  But  Aris 
totle  does  not  usually  ascribe  much  importance  to  this  enumera 
tion  of  the  most  general  notions ;  so  that  we  may  regard  it  as 
nothing  more  than  an  attempt  to  exhibit  in  a  clear  light  the 
signification  of  words  taken  absolutely,  in  order  to  show  how 
truth  and  falsehood  consist  in  the  right  or  wrong  combination  of 
these  elements.* 

However  imperfect  this  attempt  at  classification  may  be,  it 
was  held  to  be  a  satisfactory  attempt  for  many  centuries  ;  nor 
was  any  one  bold  enough  to  venture  on  another  until  Kant,  who, 
as  we  shall  see,  had  quite  a  different  object.  We  have  not  here 
to  criticise  it,  but  to  exhibit  its  historical  position.  The  idea  of 
examining  the  forms  of  thought  could  scarcely  have  originated 
earlier.  Previous  speculators  had  occupied  themselves  with  in 
quiries  into  the  origin  and  nature  of  knowledge :  Aristotle  saw 
that  it  was  time  to  inquire  into  the  necessary  forms  of  thought. 
To  do  this,  to  analyze  the  various  processes  of  the  mind,  and  to 
exhibit  the  "art  of  thinking"  in  all  its  details,  is  the  object  of 
his  Logic. 

Some  had  declared  sense-knowledge  to  be  deceitful ;  others 
had  declared  that  sense-knowledge  was  perfectly  faithful,  as  far 
as  it  went,  but  that  it  was  incapable  of  penetrating  beneath 
phenomena.  Skepticism  was  assuming  a  menacing  attitude. 
Aristotle,  in  his  way,  endeavored  to  meet  it,  and  he  met  it 


*  Ritter,  iii.  66,  where  also  will  be  found  the  authorities  for  the  previous 
sentence. 


ARISTOTLE'S  LOGIC.  2 57 

thus :  It  is  true  that  the  knowledge  derived  from  our  senses  is 
not  always  correct ;  true  also  that  our  senses  are  to  be  trusted, 
as  far  as  they  go.  A  sensation,  as  a  sensation,  is  true  ;  but  any 
affirmation  you  may  make  about  that  sensation  may  be  either 
true  or  false,  according  to  the  affirmation.  If  an  oar  dipped  in 
the  water  appears  to  you  to  be  broken,  the  sensation  you  have 
»  is  accurate  enough  ;  you  have  that  sensation.  But  if,  on  the 
strength  of  that  sensation,  you  affirm  that  the  oar  is  broken,  your 
affirmation  is  false.  Error  lies  not  in  false  sensation,  but  in  false 
affirmation. 

Like  Plato,  he  held  it  to  be  indispensable  to  understand  words 
x  if  we  are  to  understand  thoughts ;  a  position  which,  as  we  saw 
in  the  teaching  of  Socrates,  was  both  novel  and  at  the  time  im 
portant,  because  it  called  attention  to  the  extreme  laxity  of  lan 
guage  under  which  men  disguised  the  laxity  of  their  reasoning. 
A  word,  he  said,  is  in  itself  indifferent ;  it  is  neither  true  nor 
false :  truth  or  falsehood  must  result  from  a  combination  of  words 
into  a  proposition.  No  thought  can  be  erroneous ;  error  is  only 
possible  to  propositions. 

Hence  the  necessity  of  Logic,  which  is  the  science  of  affirma 
tions  ;  it  is  in  the  Enunciate  Proposition,  a^o^avrjxoj  Xoyo£,  that 
we  must  seek  truth  or  falsehood.  This  proposition  is  subdivided 
into  Affirmative  and  Negative  Propositions,  which  are  mutually 
opposed,  and  give  rise  to  Contradiction  so  soon  as  they  are  as 
serted  in  the  same  sense  of  one  and  the  same  thing :  e.  g.  "  It 
is  impossible  for  the  same  thing  to  be  and  not  to  be." 

The  principle  of  Contradiction  he  declares  to  be  the  deepest 
of  all ;  for  on  it  all  Demonstration  is  founded.  Because,  how 
ever,  he  confounded  truth  of  Language  with  truth  of  Thought, 
and  supposed  that  Thought  was  always  the  correlate  of  Fact,  he 
fell  into  the  mistake  of  maintaining  truth  of  Language,  or  Pro 
positions,  to  be  identical  with  truth  of  Being.  He  did  not  re 
cognize  the  fact  that  we  can  frame  Propositions  which  shall  be 
based  on  the  principle  of  Contradiction,  and  which  shall  never 
theless  be  false. 


258 

Having  erected  Propositions,  or  the  affirmative  and  negative 
combinations  of  Language,  into  such  an  exalted  position,  it  be 
came  necessary  to  attend  more  closely  to  names,  and  thus  we 
get  the  Predicables,  a  five-fold  division  of  general  Names,  not 
grounded,  as  usual,  upon  a  difference  in  their  meaning,  that  is, 
in  the  attribute  which  they  cownote,  but  upon  a  difference  in  the 
kind  of  class  which  they  denote.  We  may  predicate  of  a  thing 
five  different  varieties  of  class-name  : 

Tivos a  Genus. 

EWo? a  Species. 

Aia<f>opd a  Difference. 

"IStov a  Property. 

Su/*/?£/?>7K(5ff an  Accident. 

"  It  is  to  be  remarked  of  these  distinctions  that  they  express 
not  what  the  predicate  is  in  its  own  meaning,  but  what  relation 
it  bears  to  the  subject  on  which  it  happens  on  the  particular 
occasion  to  be  predicated.  There  are  not  some  names  which  are 
exclusively  general  and  others  which  are  exclusively  species  or 
differentiae  ;  but  the  same  name  is  referred  to  one  or  another 
Predicable,  according  to  the  subject  of  which  it  is  predicated 
on  the  particular  occasion.  Animal,  for  instance,  is  a  genus 
with  respect  to  Man  or  John ;  a  species  with  respect  to  sub 
stance  or  Being.  The  words  genus,  species,  etc.,  are  therefore 
relative  terms ;  they  are  names  applied  to  certain  predicates,  to 
express  the  relation  between  them  and  some  given  subject :  a 
relation  grounded,  not  upon  what  the  predicate  cownotes,  but 
upon  the  class  which  it  denotes,  and  upon  the  place  which  in 
some  given  classification  that  class  occupies  relatively  to  the  par 
ticular  subject."* 

Induction  and  Syllogism  are  the  two  great  instruments  of  his 
Logic.  All  knowledge  must  rest  upon  some  antecedent  con 
viction  ;  and  both  in  Induction  and  Syllogism  we  see  how  this 
takes  place.  Induction  sets  out,  from  particulars  already  known, 

*  Mill,  System  of  Logic,  i.  162. 


259 

to  arrive  at  a  conclusion ;  Syllogism  sets  out,  from  some  general 
principle,  to  arrive  at  particulars.*  There  is  this  remarkable  dis 
tinction,  however,  established  by  him  between  the  two,  namely, 
that  the  general  principle  from  which  the  syllogism  proceeds  is 
better  known  in  itself  and  in  its  own  nature,  while  the  particulars 
from  which  Induction  proceeds  are  better  known  to  us.f  How 
came  he  by  this  surprising  distinction?  Thus:  the  particulars 
of  Induction  are  derived  from  Sense,  and  are  more  liable  on  that 
account  to  error ;  whereas  the  general  principle  of  the  Syllogism 
is  known  in  itself,  is  further  removed  from  the  fallacies  of  sense, 
and  is  xara  TOV  Xoyov  yvwpi/xw<r£pov.  Do  we  not  always  doubt 
whether  we  have  rightly  understood  any  thing  until  we  have 
demonstrated  that  it  follows  by  necessity  from  some  general 
principle  ?  And  does  not  this  lead  to  the  conviction  that  the 
Syllogism  is  the  proper  form  of  all  science  ?  Moreover,  as 
the  Syllogism  proceeds  from  the  general,  the  general  must 
be  better  known  than  the  particular,  since  the  particular  is 
proved  by  it. 

Aristotle  here  lands  us  on  a  jagged  reef  of  paradox :  that 
which  is  better  known  to  us  is  of  less  value  than  that  which  is 
known  in  itself.  Sensations  are  less  trustworthy  than  ideas.  The 
particulars  are  sensibles,  but  in  and  for  themselves  they  are  noth 
ing;  they  exist  only  in  relation  to  us.  Nevertheless  we  are 
forced  to  make  them  our  point  of  departure.  We  begin  with 
sensuous  knowledge  to  reach  ideal  knowledge.  In  this  manner 
we  proceed  from  the  world  of  experience  to  that  higher  world  of 
cognition. 

The  various  investigations  into  the  nature  of  Propositions 
which  Aristotle  prosecuted,  were  necessary  to  form  the  basis  of 
his  theory  of  reasoning,  i.  e.  the  Syllogism.  He  defined  the  Syl 
logism  to  be  an  enunciation  in  which  certain  Propositions  being 
laid  down,  a  necessary  conclusion  is  drawn,  distinct  from  the 

*  Analyt.  Post.  i.  1. 

t  <I>u<7£i  JJLIV  ovv  irp6rtpos  xal  yvcopf^/wrepoc  &  Sid  TOV  pfaov  (ruAXoywr^dj,  f/fnv  3' 
tvapyf-cTcpos  6  did  TQS  fTraywyjyf, — Analyt,  Prior,  ii.  24, 


260 

Propositions  and  without  employing  any  idea  not  contained  in 
the  Propositions.     Thus : 

All  bad  men  are  miserable ; 
Every  tyrant  is  a  bad  man : 

ergo 
All  tyrants  are  miserable. 

His  examination  of  the  sixteen  forms  of  the  Syllogism  exhibits 
great  ingenuity,  and,  as  a  dialectical  exercise,  was  doubtless  suffi 
cient  ;  but  it  must  not  detain  us  here.  The  theory  of  the  Syl 
logism  is  succeeded  by  the  theory  of  Demonstration.  If  all 
knowledge  owes  its  existence  to  anterior  knowledge,  what  is  this 
anterior  knowledge  ?  It  is  the  major  proposition  of  a  Syllogism. 
The  conclusion  is  but  the  application  of  the  general  to  the  par 
ticular.  Thus,  if  we  know  that  Tyrants  are  miserable,  we  know 
it  because  we  know  that  All  bad  men  are  miserable ;  and  the 
middle  term  tells  us  that  Tyrants  are  bad  men.  To  know,  is  to 
be  aware  of  the  cause ;  to  demonstrate,  is  to  give  the  Syllogism 
which  expresses  the  knowledge  we  have.  It  is  therefore  neces 
sary  that  every  scientific  Syllogism  should  repose  upon  principles 
that  are  true,  primitive,  more  evident  in  themselves  than  the 
conclusion,  and  anterior  to  the  conclusion.  These  undemonstra- 
ble  principles  are  Axioms,  Hypotheses,  etc.,  according  as  they 
are  self-evident,  or  as  they  presuppose  some  affirmation  or  nega 
tion  ;  they  are  Definitions  when  they  limit  themselves  to  an  ex 
planation  of  the  essence  of  the  thing  defined,  without  affirming 
any  thing  respecting  its  existence. 

The  proper  subjects  of  demonstration  are  those  universal  attri 
butes  of  particular  things  which  make  them  what  they  are,  and 
which  may  be  predicated  of  them.  It  is  one  thing  to  know  that 
a  thing  is  so  ;  another  thing  to  know  why  it  is  so :  hence  the 
two  orders  of  demonstrations,  the  TOU  on,  "  the  demonstration  of 
the  cause  from  a  consideration  of  the  effect,"  and  the  TOU  (S'joVi, 
"  the  demonstration  of  the  effect  from  the  presence  of  the  cause." 

We  close  this  exposition  of  the  leading  points  of  Aristotle's 
Logic  with  his  own  somewhat  touching  words,  as  he  concludes 


ARISTOTLE'S  METAPHYSICS.  261 

his  work :  "  We  have  had  no  works  of  predecessors  to  assist  us 
in  this  attempt  to  construct  a  science  of  Reasoning ;  our  own 
labors  have  done  it  all.  If,  therefore,  the  work  appears  to  you 
not  too  inferior  to  the  works  on  other  sciences  which  have  been 
formed  with  the  assistance  of  successive  laborers  in  the  same  de 
partment,  you  will  show  some  indulgence  for  the  imperfections 
of  our  work,  and  some  gratitude  for  the  discoveries  it  contains." 

§  IV.  ARISTOTLE'S  METAPHYSICS. 

The  problem  which  the  early  thinkers  had  set  themselves  to 
solve  was  that  of  the  First  Cause.  Aristotle  maintained  that 
there  were  Four  Causes,  not  one,  and  each  of  these  must  be  taken 
into  consideration.  The  four  Causes  were  as  follows : — I.  The 
Material  Cause,  the  Essence,  TO  <n  ^v  sfvai, — the  Invariable  Exist 
ence,  which  philosophers  so  variously  sought.  Perhaps  "  Es 
sence1''  is  the  best  translation  of  the  phrase.  II.  The  Substantial 
Cause,  utfoxsi'/jisvov,  the  "  Substance"  of  the  Schoolmen.  III.  The 
Efficient  Cause,  app^  T?J£  xivrfisus,  "  the  Principle  of  Motion." 
IV.  The  Final  Cause,  <ro  ou  sWxa  xa?  rdyado'v,  "the  Purpose  and 
End."  These  Causes  were  all  recognized  separately  by  the  early 
speculators,  but  no  one  had  recognized  them  as  connected,  and 
as  all  necessary. 

Aristotle  is  right  in  his  criticism  on  his  predecessors ;  but  his 
own  theory  is  extremely  vicious.  It  makes  speculation  subordi 
nate  to  logical  distinctions ;  it  makes  the  Categories  the  great 
instrument  of  investigation ;  and  it  creates  that  spirit  of  useless 
and  quibbling  distinction  which  was  the  characteristic  vice  of  the 
schoolmen,  who  were  almost  all  fervent  Aristotelians.  In  one 
word,  the  nearer  Aristotle  approached  to  systematic  precision, 
the  wider  he  wandered  from  sound  principles  of  inquiry.  And 
this  because  of  his  fundamental  error  in  supposing  that  Logic 
was  an  Organon,  i.  e.  that  subjective  distinctions  must  accord  with 
objective  distinctions.  In  consequence  of  which,  instead  of  inter 
rogating  Nature  he  interrogated  his  own  mind. 

This  may  seem  at  variance  with  his  notion  of  the  necessity  of 


262 

sense-experience,  and  at  variance  with  bis  Method ;  but,  as  we 
before  observed,  the  rigorous  application  of  his  Method  was  bare 
ly  possible ;  and,  however  excellent  as  a  precept,  it  was  so  vague 
as  to  be  almost  inevitably  vitiated  in  practice.  The  process  of 
vitiation  was  this :  Experience  was  necessary,  as  affording  the 
materials  for  Reason  to  work  with.  Any  reasoning  not  founded 
on  a  knowledge  of  phenomena  must  be  false  ;  but  here  was  Aris 
totle's  mistake  :  it  by  no  means  follows,  that  all  reasoning  found 
ed  on  a  knowledge  of  phenomena  will  be  true.  He  thought  that 
Experience  could  not  deceive.  But,  to  make  his  Method  perfect, 
he  should  have  laid  down  the  rules  for  testing  that  Experience 
— for  "interrogating"  Nature — for  discriminating  what  was  per 
tinent  to  the  question  in  hand — for  establishing  a  proper  "  ex- 
perimentum  crucis"  Thus  " facts,"  as  they  are  called,  are  notori 
ously  valuable  in  proportion  only  to  the  value  of  the  verification  to 
which  they  have  been  submitted.  People  talk  of  "  facts"  as  if 
facts  were  to  produce  irresistible  convictions  ;  W7hereas  facts  are 
susceptible  of  very  various  explanations,  and,  in  the  history  of 
science,  we  find  the  facts  constant,  but  the  theories  changing : 
that  is  to  say,  Nature  has  preserved  one  uniform  course,  her  ordi 
nary  operations  are  open  to  all  men's  inspection,  and  men  have 
endeavored  to  explain  these  operations  in  an  endless  variety  of 
ways.  Now,  from  a  want  of  a  proper  knowledge  of  the  condi 
tions  of  scientific  inquiry,  Aristotle's  Method  became  fruitless. 
The  facts  collected  were  vitiated  by  a  false  theory :  his  sense- 
experience  was  wrongly  interpreted. 

It  is  time,  however,  to  give  his  solution  of  the  great  metaphy 
sical  problem  of  Existence.  Matter,  he  said,  exists  in  a  threefold 
form.  It  is, — I.  Substance,  perceptible  by  the  senses,  which  is 
finite  and  perishable.  This  Substance  is  either  the  abstract  sub 
stance,  or  the  substance  connected  with  form,  siSo$.  II.  The 
higher  Substance,  which,  though  perceived  by  the  sense,  is  im 
perishable  ;  such  as  are  the  heavenly  bodies.  Here  the  active 
principle  (Jvspysia,  actus)  steps  in,  which,  in  so  far  as  it  contains 
that  which  is  to  be  produced,  is  understanding  (voyj).  That 


which  it  contains  is  the  purpose  (TO  ou  e'vsxa),  which  purpose  is 
realized  in  the  act.  Here  we  have  the  two  extremes  of  poten 
tiality  and  agency,  matter  and  thought.  The  celebrated  ente- 
lechie  is  the  relation  between  these  two  extremes,  it  is  the  point' 
of  transition  between  <$jva/jii£  and  ^vs'p^sja,  and  is  accordingly  the 
Cause  of  Motion,  or  Efficient  Cause,  and  represents  the  Soul.  III. 
The  third  form  of  Substance  is  that  in  which  the  three  forms  of 
power,  efficient  cause,  and  effect  are  united  :  the  Absolute  Sub 
stance  :  eternal,  unmoved  :  God  himself.  God,  as  the  Absolute 
Unmoved  Eternal  Substance,  is  Thought.  The  Universe  is  a 
thought  in  the  Mind  of  God  ;  it  is  "  God  passing  into  activity, 
but  not  exhausted  in  the  Act."  Existence,  then,  is  Thought:  it 
is  the  activity  of  the  Divine  Reason.  In  Man  the  thought  of  the 
Divine  Reason  completes  itself,  so  as  to  become  self-conscious. 
By  it  Man  recognizes  in  the  objective  world  his  own  nature 
again  ;  for  thought  is  the  thinking  of  thought  —  fc 


If  we  were  occupied  in  this  History  with  the  particular  opin 
ions  of  Philosophers,  rather  than  with  their  Methods  and  histori 
cal  position  in  the  development  of  speculation,  we  should  dwell 
at  some  length  on  Aristotle's  distinction  between  the  primary 
and  secondary  qualities  of  bodies,  which,  according  to  Sir  Wil 
liam  Hamilton,  he  was  the  first  to  establish,*  as  also  on  the  doc 
trine  of  Substantial  Forms,  which  Hamilton  says  he  did  not 
teach  (it  was  the  Arabian  commentators  who  misinterpreted 
Aristotle  on  this  point)  ;  nor  should  we  omit  the  claim  to  the 
discovery  of  the  doctrine  of  Association  of  Ideas,  which  Hamilton 
has  set  up  for  him,  with  a  vast  array  of  Aristotelian  erudition, 
proving  indeed  that  Aristotle  did  recognize  the  facts  of  Associa 
tion,  but  by  no  means  proving  that  he  recognized  Association  as 
the  grand  law  of  intellectual  action.  Our  limits  forbid  such  dis 
cursive  wanderings  from  the  purpose  of  this  work,  and  we  are 
forced  to  leave  untouched  the  very  points  which  in  our  opinion 

*  Hamilton's  fieid,  p.  826. 


264: 

constitute  the  pre-eminence  of  Aristotle.  In  a  history  of  Science 
greater  justice  could  be  done  to  his  encyclopaedic  knowledge  and 
marvellous  power  of  systematization.*  Here  we  have  but  to  con 
sider  him  as  the  philosopher  who,  resuming  in  himself  all  the 
results  of  ancient  speculation,  so  elaborated  them  into  a  co-ordi 
nate  system,  that  for  twenty  centuries  he  held  the  world  a  slave. 
Plato  was  a  great  speculative  genius,  and  a  writer  unap- 
proached  in  the  art  of  imaginary  conversations  having  a  po 
lemical  purpose ;  and  in  most  literary  minds  he  will  ever  remain 
a  greater  figure  than  his  pupil,  Aristotle.  But  while  I  concede 
Plato's  immeasurable  superiority  as  a  writer,  I  conceive  his  in 
feriority  as  a  thinker  to  be  no  less  marked.  Aristotle  seems  to 
me  to  have  been  the  greatest  intellect  of  antiquity,  an  intellect 
at  once  comprehensive  and  subtle,  patient,  receptive,  and  original. 
He  wrote  on  Politics,  and  the  treatise,  even  in  the  imperfect  state 
in  which  it  has  reached  us,  is  still  in  many  respects  one  of  the 
best  works  on  the  subject.  He  wrote  on  Poetry,  and  the  few 
detached  passages  which  survive  are  full  of  valuable  details.  He 
wrote  on  Natural  History,  and  his  observations  are  still  valuable, 
his  reflections  still  suggestive.  He  wrote  on  Logic,  and  for  many 
centuries  no  one  could  suggest  any  improvement.  "  Aristotle," 
says  Hegel,  "  penetrated  into  the  whole  universe  of  things,  and 
subjected  to  the  comprehension  its  scattered  wealth ;  and  the 
greatest  number  of  the  philosophical  sciences  owe  to  him  their 
separation  and  commencement.  While  in  this  manner  science 
separates  itself  into  a  series  of  definitions,  the  Aristotelian  phi 
losophy  at  the  same  time  contains  the  most  profound  speculative 
ideas.  He  is  more  comprehensive  and  speculative  than  any  one 
else."  While,  therefore,  the  majority  will  prefer  Plato,  who,  in 
spite  of  his  difficulties,  is  much  easier  to  read  than  Aristotle,  yet 
all  must  venerate  the  latter  as  a  grand  intellectual  phenomenon, 
to  which  scarcely  any  parallel  can  be  suggested. 

*  Should  I  ever  be  enabled  to  complete  a  long  projected  plan,  of  writing, 
as  a  companion  to  the  present  work,  a  Biographical  History  of  Science,  I  will 
endeavor  to  present  Aristotle  in  this  light. 


265 

His  vast  learning,  his  singular  acuteness,  the  wide  range  of  his 
investigations,  and  the  astonishing  number  and  the  excellence  of 
his  works,  will  always  make  him  a  formidable  rival  to  his  more 
fascinating  master.  "  A  student  passing  from  the  works  of  Plato," 
it  has  been  well  said,  "  to  those  of  Aristotle,  is  struck  first  of  all 
with  the  entire  absence  of  that  dramatic  form  and  that  dramatic 
feeling  with  which  he  has  been  familiar.  The  living  human 
beings  with  whom  he  has  conversed  have  passed  away.  Protag 
oras,  and  Prodicus,  and  Hippias  are  no  longer  lounging  upon 
their  couches  in  the  midst  of  groups  of  admiring  pupils ;  we 
have  no  walks  along  the  walls  of  the  city ;  no  readings  beside 
the  Ilissus ;  no  lively  symposia,  giving  occasion  to  high  dis 
courses  about  love ;  no  Critias  recalling  the  stories  he  had  heard 
in  the  days  of  his  youth,  before  he  became  a  tyrant  of  ancient 
and  glorious  republics ;  above  all,  no  Socrates  forming  a  centre 
to  these  various  groups,  while  yet  he  stands  out  clear  and  dis 
tinct  in  his  individual  character,  showing  that  the  most  subtle  of 
dialecticians  may  be  the  most  thoroughly  humorous  and  humane 
of  men.  Some  little  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  those  clear  and  beau 
tiful  pictures  will  perhaps  be  felt  by  every  one  ;  but  by  far  the 
greater  portion  of  readers  will  believe,  that  they  have  an  ample 
compensation  in  the  precision  and  philosophical  dignity  of  the 
treatise,  for  the  richness  and  variety  of  the  dialogue.  To  hear 
solemn  disquisitions  solemnly  treated ;  to  hear  opinions  calmly 
discussed  without  the  interruptions  of  personalities ;  above  all,  to 
have  a  profound  and  considerate  judge,  able  and  not  unwilling 
to  pronounce  a  positive  decision  upon  the  evidence  before  him  ; 
this  they  think  a  great  advantage,  and  this  and  far  more  than 
this  they  expect,  not  wrongly,  to  find  in  Aristotle."* 

*  Maurice,  Moral  and  Metaphysical  Philosophy. 
12 


CHAPTER    II. 
SUMMAKY  OF  THE  SOCRATIC  MOVEMENT. 

FOR  the  sake  of  historical  clearness  we  may  here  place  a  few 
words  respecting  the  position  of  the  Socratic  Movement  (as  we 
may  call  the  period  from  the  Sophists  down  to  Aristotle)  in  the 
history  of  Speculation. 

What  Socrates  himself  effected  we  have  already  seen.  He 
appeared  during  the  reign  of  utter  skepticism.  The  various 
tentatives  of  the  early  thinkers  had  all  ended  in  a  skepticism, 
which  was  turned  to  dexterous  use  by  the  Sophists.  Socrates 
banished  this  skepticism  by  the  invention  of  a  new  Method.  He 
withdrew  men  from  the  metaphysical  speculations  about  Nature, 
which  had  led  them  into  the  inextricable  confusion  of  doubt. 
He  bade  them  look  inward.  He  created  Moral  Philosophy. 
The  Cyrenaics  and  the  Cynics  attempted  to  carry  out  this  ten 
dency  ;  but,  as  they  did  so  in  a  one-sided  manner,' their  endeavor 
was  only  partially  successful. 

Plato,  the  youngest  and  most  remarkable  of  the  disciples  of 
Socrates,  accepted  the  Method,  but  applied  it  more  universally. 
Nevertheless  Ethics  formed  the  most  important  of  his  specula 
tions.  Physics  were  only  subordinate  and  illustrative  of  Ethics. 
The  Truth — the  God-like  existence — which  he  forever  besought 
men  to  contemplate,  that  they  might  share  it,  had  always  an 
Ethical  object :  it  was  sought  by  man  for  his  own  perfection. 
How  to  live  in  a  manner  resembling  the  Gods  was  the  funda 
mental  problem  which  he  set  himself  to  solve.  But  there  was  a 
germ  of  scientific  speculation  in  his  philosophy,  and  this  germ 
was  developed  by  his  pupil,  Aristotle. 

The  difference  between  Socrates  and  Aristotle  is  immense  : 
Plato,  however,  fills  up  the  interval.  In  Plato,  we  see  the  tran- 


SUMMARY   OF   THE    SOCRATIC   MOVEMENT.  267 

sition-point  of  development,  both  in  Method  and  in  Doctrine. 
Metaphysical  speculations  are  intimately  connected  with  those  of 
Ethics.  In  Aristotle,  Ethics  only  form  one  branch  of  philosophy: 
Metaphysics  and  Physics  usurp  the  larger  share  of  his  attention. 

One  result  of  Aristotle's  labors  was  precisely  this  :  he  brought 
Philosophy  round  again  to  that  condition  from  which  Socrates 
had  wrested  it;  he  opened  the  world  again  to  speculation. 

Was  then  the  advent  of  Socrates  nullified  ?  No.  The  Socratic 
Epoch  conferred  the  double  benefit  on  humanity  of  having  first 
brought  to  light  the  importance  of  Ethical  Philosophy,  and  of 
having  substituted  a  new  and  incomparably  better  Method  for 
that  pursued  by  the  early  speculators.  That  Method  sufficed  for 
several  centuries. 

In  Aristotle's  systematization  of  the  Socratic  Method,  and, 
above  all,  in  his  bringing  Physics  and  Metaphysics  again  into 
the  region  of  Inquiry,  he  paved  the  way  for  a  new  epoch, — the 
epoch  of  Skepticism  ;  not  the  unmethodical  Skepticism  of  help 
less  baffled  guessers,  like  that  which  preceded  Socrates,  but  the 
methodical  and  dogmatic  exposure  of  the  vanity  of  philosophy. 


EIGHTH  EPOCH. 


SECOND  CRISIS  OF  GREEK  PHILOSOPHY :  THE  SKEPTICS,  EPI 
CUREANS,  STOICS,  AND  THE  NEW  ACADEMY. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  SKEPTICS. 

§  I.  PYRRHO. 

IN  the  curious  train  which  accompanied  the  expedition  of 
Alexander  into  India,  there  was  a  serious,  reflective  man,  who 
followed  him  with  purely  philosophical  interest :  that  man  was 
Pyrrho,  the  founder  of  the  Skeptical  philosophy.  Conversing 
with  the  Gymnosophists  of  India,  he  must  have  been  struck 
with  their  devout  faith  in  doctrines  so  unusual  to  him ;  and  this 
spectacle  of  a  race  of  wise  and  studious  men  believing  a  strange 
\  creed,  and  acting  upon  their  belief,  may  have  led  him  to  reflect 
on  the  nature  of  belief.  He  had  already,  by  the  philosophy  of 
Democritus,  been  led  to  question  the  origin  of  knowledge :  he 
had  learned  to  doubt ;  and  now  this  doubt  became  irresistible. 

On  his  return  to  Elis  he  became  remarked  for  the  practical 
philosophy  which  he  inculcated,  and  the  simplicity  of  his  life. 
The  profound  and  absolute  skepticism  with  which  he  regarded 
all  speculative  doctrines,  had  the  same  effect  upon  him  as  upon 
Socrates :  it  made  him  insist  wholly  on  moral  doctrines.  He 
was  resigned  and  tranquil,  accepting  life  as  he  found  it,  and 
guiding  himself  by  the  general  precepts  of  common-sense.  Soc 
rates,  on  the  contrary,  was  uneasy,  restless,  perpetually  ques- 


THE    SKEPTICS.  269 

tioning  himself  and  others,  despising  metaphysical  speculations, 
but  eager  for  truth.  Pyrrho,  dissatisfied  with  all  the  attempts 
of  his  predecessors  to  solve  the  great  problems  they  had  set  to 
themselves,  declared  the  problems  insoluble.  Socrates  was  also 
dissatisfied;  he  too  declared  that  he  knew  nothing;  but  his 

\  doubt  was  an  active,  eager,  questioning  doubt,  used  as  a  stimulus 
to  investigation,  not  as  a  final  result  of  all  investigation.  The 
doubt  of  Pyrrho  was  a  reprobation  of  all  philosophy ;  the  doubt 
of  Socrates  was  the  opening  through  which  a  new  philosophy 
was  to  be  established.  Their  lives  accorded  with  their  doctrines. 
Pyrrho,  the  grand  Priest  of  Elis,  lived  and  died  in  happiness, 
peace,  and  universal  esteem.*  Socrates  lived  in  perpetual  war 
fare,  was  always  misunderstood,  was  ridiculed  as  a  sophist,  and 
perished  as  a  blasphemer. 

The  precise  doctrines  of  Pyrrho  it  is  now  hopeless  to  attempt 
to  recover.  Even  in  antiquity  they  were  so  mixed  up  with  those 
of  his  followers,  that  it  was  found  impossible  to  separate  them. 
We  are  forced,  therefore,  to  speak  of  the  skeptical  doctrines  as 
they  are  collected  and  systematized  by  that  acute  and  admirable 
writer,  Sextus  Empiricus. 

The   stronghold  of  Skepticism  is  impregnable.     It  is   this : 

^  There  is  no  Criterium  of  Truth.  After  Plato  had  developed  his 
Ideal  Theory,  Aristotle  crushed  it  by  proving  it  to  be  purely 
subjective.  But  then  the  theory  of  Demonstration,  which  Aris 
totle  placed  in  its  stead,  was  not  that  equally  subjective  ?  What 
was  this  boasted  Logic,  but  the  systematic  arrangement  of  Ideas 
obtained  originally  through  Sense?  According  to  Aristotle, 
knowledge  could  only  be  a  knowledge  of  phenomena ;  although 
he  too  wished  to  make  out  a  science  of  Causes.  And  what  are 
Phenomena?  Phenomena  are  the  Appearances  of  things.  But 
where  exists  the  Criterium  of  the  truth  of  these  Appearances  ? 

*  All  the  stories  about  him  which  pretend  to  illustrate  the  effects  of  his 
skepticism  in  real  life  are  too  trivial  for  refutation,  being  obviously  the 
invention  of  those  who  thought  Pyrrho  ought  to  have  been  consistent  in 
absurdity. 


270  THE   SKEPTICS. 

How  are  we  to  ascertain  the  exactitude  of  the  accordance  of 
these  Appearances  with  the  Things  of  which  they  are  Appear 
ances  ?  We  know  full  well  that  Things  appear  differently  to 
us  at  different  times;  appear  differently  to  different  individuals  ; 
appear  differently  to  different  animals.  Are  any  of  these  Ap 
pearances  true  ?  If  so,  which  are  ?  and  how  do  you  know  which 
are  true  ? 

Moreover,  reflect  on  this :  We  have  five  senses,  each  of  which 
reveals  to  us  a  different  quality  in  the  object.  Thus  an  Apple  is 
presented  to  us :  we  see  it,  smell  it,  feel  it,  taste  it,  hear  it  bit 
ten  ;  and  the  sight,  smell,  feeling,  taste,  and  sound,  are  five  dif 
ferent  Appearances — five  different  Aspects  under  which  we  per 
ceive  the  Thing.  If  we  had  three  Senses  more,  the  Thing  would 
have  three  qualities  more ;  it  would  present  three  more  Appear 
ances  :  if  we  had  three  Senses  less,  the  Thing  would  have  but 
three  qualities  less.  Are  these  qualities  wholly  and  entirely  de 
pendent  upon  our  Senses,  or  do  they  really  appertain  to  the 
Thing  ?  And  do  they  all  appertain  to  it,  or  only  some  of  them  ? 
The  differences  of  the  impressions  made  on  different  people  seem 
to  prove  that  the  qualities  of  things  are  dependent  on  the  Senses. 
These  differences  at  any  rate  show  that  things  do  not  present 
one  uniform  series  of  Appearances. 

All  we  can  say  with  truth  is,  that  Things  appear  to  us  in  such 
and  such  a  manner.  That  we  have  Sensations  is  true  ;  but  we 
cannot  say  that  our  Sensations  are  true  images  of  the  Things. 
That  the  Apple  we  have  is  brilliant,  round,  odorous,  and  sweet, 
may  be  very  true,  if  we  mean  that  it  appears  such  to  our  senses; 
but,  to  keener  or  duller  vision,  scent,  tact,  and  taste,  it  may  be 
dull,  rugged,  offensive,  and  insipid. 

Amidst  this  confusion  of  sensuous  impressions,  Philosophers 
pretend  to  distinguish  the  true  from  the  false ;  they  assert  that 
Reason  is  the  Criterium  of  Truth :  Reason  distinguishes.  Plato 
and  Aristotle  are  herein  agreed.  Very  well,  reply  the  Skeptics, 
Reason  is  your  Criterium.  But  what  proof  have  you  that  this 
Criterium  itself  distinguishes  truly  ?  You  must  not  return  to 


THE   SKEPTICS.  271 

Sense :  that  has  been  already  given  up ;  you  must  rely  upon 
Reason  ;  and  we  ask  you  what  proof  have  you  that  your  Reason 
never  errs  ?  what  proof  have  you  that  it  is  ever  correct  ?  A  Cri- 
terium  is  wanted  for  your  Criteriura ;  and  so  on  ad  infinitum. 

The  Skeptics  maintain,  and  justly,  that  because  our  knowledge 
is  only  the  knowledge  of  Phenomena,  and  not  at  all  of  Noumena, 
— because  we  only  know  Things  as  they  appear  to  us,  not  as 
they  really  are, — all  attempt  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  Exist 
ence  must  be  vain  ;  for  the  attempt  can  only  be  made  on  appear 
ances.  But,  although  absolute  Truth  is  not  attainable  by  man, 
although  there  cannot  be  a  science  of  Being,  there  can  be  a 
science  of  Appearances.  The  Phenomena,  they  admit,  are  true 
as  Phenomena.  What  we  have  to  do  is  therefore  to  observe  and 
classify  Phenomena;  to  trace  in  them  the  resemblances  of  coex 
istence  and  succession,  to  trace  the  connections  of  cause  and 
effect ;  and,  having  done  this,  we  shall  have  founded  a  Science 
of  Appearances  adequate  to  our  wants. 

But  the  age  in  which  the  Skeptics  lived  was  not  ripe  for  such 
a  conception :  accordingly,  having  proved  the  impossibility  of  a 
science  of  Being,  they  supposed  that  they  had  established  the 
impossibility  of  all  Science,  and  had  destroyed  all  grounds  of 
certitude.  It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  modern  Skeptics  have 
added  nothing  which  is  not  implied  in  the  principles  of  the  Pyr- 
rhonists.-  The  arguments  by  which  Hume  thought  he  destroyed 
all  the  grounds  of  certitude  are  differently  stated  from  those  of 
Pyrrho,  but  not  differently  founded ;  and  they  may  be  answered 
in  the  same  way. 

The  Skeptics  had  only  a  negative  doctrine ;  consequently,  only 
a  negative  influence.  They  corrected  the  tendency  of  the  mind 
towards  accepting  in  conclusions  as  adequate  expressions  of  the 
facts  •  they  served  to  moderate  the  impetuosity  of  the  specula 
tive  spirit ;  they  showed  that  the  pretended  Philosophy  of  the 
day  was  not  so  firmly  fixed  as  its  professors  supposed.  It  is  curi 
ous,  indeed,  to  have  witnessed  the  gigantic  efforts  of  a  Socrates, 
a  Plato,  and  an  Aristotle,  towards  the  reconstruction  of  Philos- 


272  THE    SKEPTICS. 

ophy,  which  the  Sophists  had  brought  to  ruins — a  reconstruction, 
too,  on  different  ground — and  then  to  witness  the  hand  of  the 
iconoclast  smiting  down  that  image,  to  witness  the  pitiless  logic 
of  the  Skeptic  undermining  that  laboriously- constructed  edifice, 
leaving  nothing  in  its  place  but  another  heap  of  ruins,  like  that 
from  which  the  edifice  was  built;  for,  not  only  did  the  Skeptics 
refute  the  notion  that  a  knowledge  of  Appearances  could  ever 
become  a  knowledge  of  Existence,  not  only  did  they  exhibit  the 
fallacious  nature  of  sensation,  and  the  want  of  certitude  in  the 
affirmations  of  Reason,  they  also  attacked  and  destroyed  the  main 
positions  of  that  Method  which  was  to  supply  the  ground  of  cer 
titude  ;  they  attacked  Induction  and  Definitions. 

Of  Induction,  Sextus,  in  one  brief,  pregnant  chapter,  writes 
thus  : — "  Induction  is  the  conclusion  of  the  Universal  from  indi 
vidual  things.  But  this  Induction  can  only  be  correct  in  as  far 
as  all  the  individual  things  agree  with  the  Universal.  This  uni 
versality  must  therefore  be  verified  before  the  Induction  can  be 
made  :  a  single  case  to  the  contrary  would  destroy  the  truth  of 
the  Induction."* 

"We  will  illustrate  this  by  an  example.  The  whiteness  of  swans 
shall  be  the  Induction.  Swans  are  said  to  be  white  because  all 
the  individual  swans  we  may  have  seen  are  white.  Here  the 
Universal  (whiteness)  seems  induced  from  the  particulars ;  and  it 
is  true  in  as  far  as  all  particular  swans  are  white.  But  there  are 
a  few  black  swans;  one  of  these  particular  black  swans  is  suffi 
cient  to  destroy  the  former  Induction.  If,  therefore,  says  Sextus, 
you  are  not  able  to  verify  the  agreement  of  the  universal  with 
every  particular,  i.  e.  if  you  are  not  able  to  prove  that  there  is  no 
swan  not  black,  you  are  unable  to  draw  a  certain  and  accurate 
Induction.  That  you  cannot  make  this  verification  is  obvious. 

In  the  next  chapter  Sextus  examines  Definitions.  lie  pro 
nounces  them  perfectly  useless.  If  we  know  the  thing  we  define, 


*  Pyrrhon.  Hypot.  vol.  ii.  c.  xv.  p.  94.    The  edition  we  use  is  the  Paris  folio 
of  1521,  the  first  of  the  Greek  text. 


THE   SKEPTICS.  273 

we  do  not  comprehend  it  because  of  the  definition,  but  we  im 
pose  on  it  the  definition  because  we  know  it ;  and  if  we  are 
ignorant  of  the  thing  we  would  define,  it  is  impossible  to  de 
fine  it. 

Although  the  Skeptics  destroyed  the  dogmatism  of  their  pre 
decessors,  they  did  not  substitute  any  dogmatism  of  their  own 
in  its  place.  The  nature  of  their  skepticism  is  happily  charac 
terized  by  Sextus  in  his  comparison  of  them  with  Democritus 
and  Protagoras.  Democritus  had  insisted  on  the  uncertainty  of 
sense-knowledge ;  but  he  concluded  therefrom  that  objects  had 
no  qualities  at  all  resembling  those  known  to, us  through  sensa 
tion.  The  Skeptics  contented  themselves  with  pointing  out  the 
uncertainty,  but  did  not  pronounce  decisively  whether  the  quali 
ties  existed  objectively  or  not. 

Protagoras  also  insisted  on  the  uncertainty,  and  declared  man 
to  be  the  measure  of  truth.  He  supposed  that  there  was  a  con 
stant  relation  between  the  transformations  of  matter  and  those  of 
sensation ;  but  these  suppositions  he  affirmed  dogmatically  ;  to 
the  Skeptic  they  are  uncertain. 

This  general  incertitude  often  betrayed  the  Skeptics  into  ludi 
crous  dilemmas,  of  which  many  specimens  have  been  preserved. 
Thus  they  said,  "  We  assert  nothing — no,  not  even  that  we  assert 
nothing."  But  if  the  reader  wishes  to  see  this  distinction  be 
tween  a  thing  seeming  and  a  thing  being,  ridiculed  with  a  truly 
comic  gusto,  he  should  turn  to  Moliere's  Maria  ge  Force,  act  i. 
sc.  8.  Such  follies  form  no  portion  of  our  subject,  and  we  leave 
them  with  some  pleasure  to  direct  our  attention  to  more  worthy 
efforts  of  human  ingenuity. 

12* 


CHAPTER  II. 
THE    EPICUKEANS. 

§  I.  EPICURUS. 

THE  Epicureans  are  condemned  in  their  names.  We  before 
noticed  how  the  meaning  attached  to  the  name  of  Sophist  inad 
vertently  gives  a  bias  to  every  judgment  of  the  Sophist  School, 
and  renders  it  extremely  difficult  to  conceive  the  members  of  that 
School  otherwise  than  as  shameless  rogues.  Equally  difficult  is 
it  to  shake  off  the  influence  of  association  with  respect  to  the 
Epicureans ;  although  historians  are  now  pretty  well  agreed  in 
believing  Epicurus  to  have  been  a  man  of  pure  and  virtuous  life, 
and  one  whose  doctrines  were  moderate  and  really  inculcating 
abstemiousness. 

Epicurus  was  born  Ol.  109  (B.  c.  342),  at  Samos,  according  to 
some;  at  Gargettus,  in  the  vicinity  of  Athens,  according  to 
others.  His  parents  were  poor,  his  father  a  teacher  of  grammar. 
At  a  very  early  age,  he  tells  us,  his  philosophical  career  began  : 
so  early  as  his  thirteenth  year.  But  we  must  not  misunderstand 
this  statement.  He  dates  his  career  from  those  first  questionings 
which  occupy  and  perplex  most  young  minds,  especially  those  of 
any  superior  capacity.  He  doubtless  refers  to  that  period  when, 
boy-like,  he  puzzled  his  teacher  with  a  question  beyond  that 
teacher's  power.  Hearing  the  verse  of  Hesiod  wherein  all  things 
are  said  to  arise  from  Chaos,  Epicurus  asked,  "  And  whence  came 
Chaos  ?" 

"  Whence  came  Chaos  ?"  Is  not  this  the  sort  of  question  to 
occupy  the  active  mind  of  a  boy  ?  Is  it  not  by  such  questions 
that  we  are  all  led  into  philosophy  ?  To  philosophy  he  was  re- 


EPICURUS.  275 

ferred  for  an  explanation.  The  writings  of  Democritus  fell  in  his 
way,  and  were  eagerly  studied ;  the  writings  of  others  followed ; 
and,  his  vocation  being  fixed,  he  sought  instruction  from  many 
masters.  But  from  all  these  masters  he  could  gain  no  solid  con 
victions.  They  gave  him  hints;  they  could  not  give  him  Truth; 
and  working  upon  the  materials  they  furnished,  he  produced  a 
system  of  his  own,  by  which  we  presume  he  justified  his  claim 
to  being  self-taught. 

His  early  years  were  agitated  and  unsettled.  He  visited 
Athens  at  eighteen,  but  remained  there  only  one  year.  He  then 
passed  to  Colophon,  Mitylene,  and  Lampsacus.  He  returned  to 
Athens  in  his  six-and-thirtieth  year,  and  there  opened  a  school, 
over  which  he  presided  till  his  death,  01.  127  (B.  c.  272). 

The  place  he  chose  for  his  school  was  the  famous  Garden,  a 
spot  pleasantly  typical  of  his  doctrine.  The  Platonists  had  their 
Academic  Grove ;  the  Aristotelians  walked  along  the  Lyceum ; 
the  Cynics  growled  in  the  Cynosarges ;  the  Stoics  occupied  the 
Porch  ;  and  the  Epicureans  had  their  Garden. 

Here,  in  the  tranquil  Garden,  in  the  society  of  his  friends,  he 
passed  a  peaceful  life  of  speculation  and  enjoyment.  The  friend 
ship  which  existed  amongst  them  is  well  known.  In  a  time  of 
general  scarcity  and  famine  they  contributed  to  each  other's  sup 
port,  showing  that  the  Pythagorean  notion  of  community  of 
goods  was  unnecessary  amongst  friends,  who  could  confide  in 
each  other.  At  the  entrance  of  the  Garden  they  placed  this  in 
scription  :  "  The  hospitable  keeper  of  this  mansion,  where  you 
will  find  pleasure  the  jiighest  good,  will  present  you  liberally 
with  barley-cakes  and  water  fresh  from  the  spring.  The  gardens 
will  not  provoke  your  appetite  by  artificial  dainties,  but  satisfy 
it  with  natural  supplies.  Will  you  not  be  well  entertained  ?" 

The  Garden  has  often  been  called  a  sty ;  and  the  name  of 
Epicurean  has  become  the  designation  of  a  sensualist.  But,  in 
spite  of  his  numerous  assailants,  the  character  of  Epicurus  has 
been  rescued  from  contempt,  both  by  ancient  and  by  modern 
critics.  Diogenes  Laertius,  who  gives  some  of  the  accusations 


276  THE   EPICUREANS. 

in  detail,  easily  refutes  them  by  an  appeal  to  facts  ;  and  the 
modern  writers  have  been  at  no  loss  to  discover  the  motive  of 
the  ancient  calumnies,  which  mostly  proceeded  from  the  Stoics. 
A  doctrine  like  that  of  Epicurus  would,  at  all  times,  lend  itself 
to  gross  misrepresentation  ;  but  in  an  epoch  like  that  in  which  it 
appeared,  and  contrasted  with  a  doctrine  so  fiercely  opposed  to 
it  as  the  doctrine  of  the  Stoics,  we  cannot  wonder  if  the  bitter 
ness  of  opposition  translated  itself  into  bitter  calumny.  It  is  one 
of  the  commonest  results  of  speculative  differences  to  make  us 
attribute  to  our  opponent's  opinions  the  consequences  which  we 
deduce  from  them,  as  if  they  were  indubitably  the  consequences 
he  deduces  for  himself.  Our  opinions  are  conducive  to  sound 
morality ;  of  that  we  are  convinced ;  and  being  so  convinced,  it 
is  natural  for  us  to  believe  that  contrary  opinions  must  be  im 
moral.  Our  opponent  holds  contrary,  ergo  immoral  opinions  ; 
and  we  proclaim  his  immorality  as  an  unquestionable  fact.  In 
this,  however,  there  is  a  slight  forgetfulness,  namely,  that  our 
opponent  occupies  exactly  similar  ground,  and  what  we  think  of 
him,  he  thinks  of  us. 

The  Stoics  had  an  ineffable  contempt  for  the  weakness  and 
effeminacy  of  the  Epicureans.  The  Epicureans  had  an  ineffable 
contempt  for  the  spasmodic  rigidity  and  unnatural  exaggeration 
of  the  Stoics.  They  libelled  each  other ;  but  the  libels  against 
the  Epicureans  have  met  with  more  general  credit  than  those 
against  the  Stoics,  from  the  more  imposing  character  of  the  lat 
ter,  both  in  their  actions  and  doctrines. 

Epicurus  is  said  to  have  been  the  most  voluminous  of  all  Greek 
Philosophers,  except  Chrysippus ;  and  although  none  of  these 
works  are  extant,  yet  so  many  fragments  are  preserved  here  and 
there,  and  there  is  such  ample  testimony  as  to  his  opinions,  that 
there  are  few  writers  of  whose  doctrine  we  can  speak  with  greater 
certainty ;  the  more  so  as  it  does  not  in  itself  present  any  diffi 
culties  of  comprehension. 

Nothing  can  be  more  unlike  Plato  and  Aristotle  than  Epicu 
rus  ;  and  this  difference  may  be  characterized  at  the  outset  by 


EPICURUS.  277 

their  fundamental  difference  in  the  conception  of  Philosophy, 
which  Epicurus  regarded  as  the  Art  of  Life,  and  not  the  Art  of 
Truth.  Philosophy,  he  said,  was  the  power  (Ivsp^sia)  by  which 
Reason  conducted  man  to  happiness.  The  investigations  of  Phi 
losophy  he  despised  :  they  were  not  only  uncertain,  but  contrib 
uted  nothing  towards  happiness ;  and  of  course  Logic,  the  instru 
ment  of  Philosophy,  found  no  favor  in  his  sight.  His  system 
was,  therefore,  only  another  form  of  Skepticism,  consequent  on 
his  dissatisfaction  with  previous  systems.  Socrates  had  taught 
men  to  regard  their  own  nature  as  the  great  object  of  investiga 
tion  ;  but  man  does  not  interrogate  his  own  nature  out  of  simple 
curiosity,  or  for  simple  erudition :  he  studies  his  nature  in  order 
that  he  may  improve  it ;  he  learns  the  extent  of  his  capacities  in 
order  that  he  may  properly  direct  them.  The  aim,  therefore,  of 
all  such  inquiries  must  be  Happiness.  And  what  constitutes 
Happiness  ?  Upon  this  point  systems  differ  :  all  profess  to  teach 
the  road  to  Happiness,  and  all  point  out  divergent  roads.  There 
can  be  little  dispute  as  to  what  is  Happiness,  but  infinite  disputes 
as  to  the  way  of  securing  it.*  In  the  Cyrenaic  and  Cynic 
Schools  we  saw  this  question  leading  to  very  opposite  results ; 
and  the  battle  we  are  now  to  see  renewed  on  similar  ground  be 
tween  the  Epicureans  and  the  Stoics. 

Epicurus,  like  Aristippus,  declared  that  Pleasure  constituted 
Happiness;  all  animals  instinctively  pursue  it,  and  as  instinc 
tively  avoid  Pain.  Man  should  do  deliberately  that  which  ani 
mals  do  instinctively.  Every  Pleasure  is  in  itself  good ;  but,  in 
comparison  with  another,  it  may  become  an  evil.  The  Philoso 
pher  differs  from  the  common  man  in  this :  That  while  they 
both  seek  Pleasure,  the  former  knows  how  to  forego  certain  en 
joyments  which  will  cause  pain  and  vexation  hereafter ;  whereas, 
the  common  man  seeks  only  the  immediate  enjoyment.  The 


*  At  a  meeting  of  Socialists  in  London,  to  discuss  in  a  friendly  way  the 
means  of  reforming  the  world,  M.  Pierre  Leronx  rose  and  addressed  his 
brethren  thus:  "Nous  voulona  arriver  au  Paradis,  n"1  est-ce  pas  f  n1  est-ce 
pas  ?  Eh  lien  !  il  ne  s'agit  que  fly  arriver  !  Voild  /" 


278  THE   EPICUREANS. 

Philosopher's  art  enables  him  to  foresee  what  will  be  the  result 
of  his  acts ;  and,  so  foreseeing,  he  will  not  only  avoid  those  en 
joyments  which  occasion  grief,  but  know  how  to  endure  those 
pains  from  which  surpassing  pleasure  will  result. 

True  happiness,  then,  is  not  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment, 
but  the  enjoyment  of  the  whole  life.  We  must  not  seek  to  in 
tensify,  but  to  equalize ;  not  debauchery  to-day  and  satiety  to 
morrow,  but  equable  enjoyment  all  the  year  round.  No  life  can 
be  pleasant  except  a  virtuous  life  ;  and  the  pleasures  of  the  body, 
although  not  to  be  despised,  are  insignificant  when  compared 
with  those  of  the  soul.  The  former  are  but  momentary;  the 
latter  embrace  both  the  past  and  future.  Hence  the  golden  rule 
of  Temperance.  Epicurus  not  only  insisted  on  the  necessity 
of  moderation  for  continued  enjoyment,  he  also  slighted,  and 
somewrhat  scorned,  all  exquisite  indulgences.  He  fed  moderately 
and  plainly.  Without  interdicting  luxuries,  he  saw  that  Pleasure 
was  purer  and  more  enduring  if  luxuries  were  dispensed  with. 
This  is  the  ground  upon  which  Cynics  and  Stoics  built  their 
own  exaggerated  systems.  They  also  saw  that  simplicity  was 
preferable  to  luxury ;  but  they  pushed  their  notion  too  far.  Con- 
tentedness  with  a  little,  Epicurus  regarded  as  a  great  good  ;  and 
he  said,  wealth  consisted  not  in  having  great  possessions,  but  in 
having  small  wants.  He  did  not  limit  man  to  the  fewest  possi 
ble  enjoyments :  on  the  contrary,  he  wished  him  in  all  ways  to 
multiply  them  ;  but  he  wished  him  to  be  able  to  live  upon  little, 
both  as  a  preventive  against  ill  fortune,  and  as  an  enhancement 
of  rare  enjoyments.  The  man  who  lives  plainly  has  no  fear  of 
poverty,  and  is  better  able  to  enjoy  exquisite  pleasures. 

Virtue  rests  upon  Free  Will  and  Reason,  which  are  insepara 
ble  :  since,  without  Free  Will  our  Reason  would  be  passive,  and 
without  Reason  our  Free  Will  would  be  blind.  Every  thing, 
therefore,  in  human  actions  which  is  virtuous  or  vicious  depends 
on  man's  knowing  and  willing.  Philosophical  education  consists 
in  accustoming  the  Mind  to  judge  accuratety,  and  the  Will  to 
choose  manfully. 


EPICURUS.  279 

From  this  slight  outline  of  his  Ethical  doctrine  may  be  seen 
how  readily  it  furnished  arguments  both  to  assailants  and  to  de 
fenders.  We  may  also  notice  its  vagueness  and  elasticity,  which 
would  enable  many  minds  to  adapt  it  to  their  virtues  or  to  their 
vices.  The  luxurious  would  see  in  it  only  an  exhortation  to  their 
own  vices ;  the  temperate  would  see  in  it  a  scientific  exposition  of 
temperance. 

Epicureanism,  in  leading  man  to  a  correct  appreciation  of  the 
moral  end  of  his  existence,  in  showing  him  how  to  be  truly  happy, 
has  to  combat  with  many  obstructions  which  hide  from  him  the 
real  road  of  life.  These  obstructions  are  his  illusions,  his  preju 
dices,  his  errors,  his  ignorance.  This  ignorance  is  of  two  kinds : 
first,  ignorance  of  the  laws  of  the  external  world,  which  creates 
absurd  superstitions,  and  troubles  the  soul  with  false  fears  and 
false  hopes ;  hence  the  necessity  of  some  knowledge  of  Physics. 
The  second  kind  of  ignorance  is  that  of  the  nature  of  man  ; 
hence  the  necessity  of  the  Epicurean  Logic  called  Canonic,  which 
is  a  collection  of  rules  respecting  human  reason  and  its  applica 
tion. 

The  Epicurean  psychology  and  physics  were  derived  from  the 
Democritean.  The  atoms  of  which  the  universe  is  formed  are 
supposed  to  be  constantly  throwing  off  some  of  their  parts, 
atfoppoai :  and  these,  in  contact  with  the  senses,  produce  sensa 
tion,  aitfd>)0'i£.  But  Epicurus  did  not  maintain  that  these  ottfoppocu 
were  images  of  the  atoms ;  he  believed  them  to  have  a  certain 
resemblance  to  their  atoms,  but  was  unable  to  point  out  where, 
and  in  how  far  this  resemblance  exists.  Every  sensation  must 
be  true  as  a  sensation ;  and,  as  such,  it  can  neither  be  proved  nor 
contradicted  ;  it  is  aXo^o^.  The  sensations  of  the  insane  and 
the  dreaming  are  also  true ;  and,  although  there  is  a  difference 
between  their  sensations  and  those  of  sane  and  waking  men,  yet 
Epicurus  confessed  himself  unable  to  determine  in  what  the  dif 
ference  consists.  Sensations,  however,  do  not  alone  constitute 
knowledge ;  man  has  also  the  faculty  of  conception,  TrpoXi^ij, 
which  arises  from  the  repeated  iteration  of  sensation  :  it  is  recol- 


280  THE   EPICUREANS. 

lection  of  various  sensations ;  or,  as  Aristotle  would  say,  the  gen 
eral  idea  gathered  from  particular  sensations.  It  is  from  these 
conceptions  that  the  general  ideas,  oo£«i,  are  formed,  and  it  is  in 
these  general  ideas  that  error  resides.  A  sensation  may  be  con 
sidered  either  in  relation  to  its  object  or  in  relation  to  him  who 
experiences  it ;  in  the  latter  case  it  is  agreeable  or  disagreeable, 
and  renders  the  sentiments,  <rdt  cra^Tj,  the  basis  of  all  morality. 

With  such  a  basis,  we  may  readily  anticipate  the  nature  of 
the  superstructure.  If  agreeable  and  disagreeable  sensations  are 
the  origin  of  all  moral  phenomena,  there  can  be  no  other  moral 
rule  than  to  seek  the  agreeable  and  to  avoid  the  disagreeable ; 
and  whatever  is  pleasant  becomes  the  great  object  of  existence. 

The  Physics  of  Epicurus  are  so  similar  to  the  Physics  of  De- 
mocritus  that  we  need  not  occupy  our  space  with  them.* 

On  reviewing  the  whole  doctrine  of  Epicurus,  we  find  in  it 
that  skepticism  which  the  imperfect  Philosophy  of  the  day  ne 
cessarily  brought  to  many  minds,  in  many  different  shapes ;  and 
the  consequence  of  that  skepticism  was  the  effort  to  find  a  refuge 
in  Morals,  and  the  attempt  to  construct  Ethics  on  a  philosophic 
basis.  The  attempt  failed  because  the  basis  was  not  broad  enough ; 
but  the  attempt  itself  is  worthy  of  notice,  as  characteristic  of  the 
whole  Socratic  movement ;  for,  although  the  Socratic  Method  was 
an  attempt  at  reconstructing  Philosophy,  yet  that  reconstruction 
itself  was  only  attempted  with  a  view  to  morals.  Socrates  was 
the  first  to  bring  Philosophy  down  from  the  clouds ;  he  was  the 
first  to  make  it  the  basis  of  Morality,  and  in  one  shape  or  other 
all  his  followers  and  all  the  schools  that  issued  from  them,  kept 
this  view  present  to  their  minds.  The  Epicureans  are  therefore 
to  be  regarded  as  men  who  ventured  on  a  solution  of  the  great 
problem,  and  failed  because  they  only  saw  a  part  of  the  truth. 


*  They  are  expounded  by  Lucretius,  who  claims  a  rebellious  originality 
for  Epicurus  which  history  cannot  endorse.    I.  67,  sqq. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE    STOICS. 

§  I.     ZENO. 

THE  Stoics  were  a  large  sect,  and  of  its  members  so  many  have 
been  celebrated,  that  a  separate  work  would  be  needed  to  chron 
icle  them  all.  From  Zeno,  the  founder,  down  to  Brutus  and 
Marcus  Antoninus,  the  sect  embraces  many  Greek  and  Roman 
worthies,  and  not  a  few  solemn  mountebanks.  Some  of  these  we 
would  willingly  introduce ;  but  we  are  forced  to  confine  ourselves 
to  one  type,  and  the  one  we  select  is  Zeno. 

He  was  born  at  Citium,  a  small  city  in  the  island  of  Cyprus, 
of  Phoenician  origin,  but  inhabited  by  Greeks.  The  date  of  his 
birth  is  uncertain.  His  father  was  a  merchant,  in  which  trade 
he  himself  engaged,  until  his  father,  after  a  voyage  to  Athens, 
brought  home  some  works  of  Socratic  Philosophers ;  these  Zeno 
studied  with  eagerness  and  rapture,  and  determined  his  vocation. 

When  about  thirty,  he  undertook  a  voyage,  both  of  interest 
and  pleasure,  to  Athens,  the  great  mart  both  for  trade  and  phi 
losophy.  Shipwrecked  on  the  coast,  he  lost  the  whole  of  his 
valuable  cargo  of  Phoenician  purple ;  and,  thus  reduced  to  pov 
erty,  he  willingly  embraced  the  doctrine  of  the  Cynics,  whose 
ostentatious  display  of  poverty  had  captivated  many  minds. 

There  is  an  anecdote  of  his  having  one  day  read  Xenophon's 
Memorabilia,  in  a  bookseller's  shop,  with  such  delight  that  he 
asked  where  such  men  were  to  be  met  with.  At  that  moment 
Crates  the  Cynic  passed  by :  the  bookseller  pointed  him  out  to 
Zeno,  and  bade  him  follow  Crates.  He  did  so ;  and  he  became 
a  disciple.  But  he  could  not  long  remain  a  disciple.  The  gross 


282  THE   STOICS. 

manners  of  the  Cynics,  so  far  removed  from  true  simplicity,  and 
their  speculative  incapacity,  soon  caused  him  to  seek  a  master 
elsewhere.  Stilpo,  of  Megara,  became  his  next  instructor  5  and 
from  him  he  learned  the  art  of  disputation,  which  he  subsequent 
ly  practised  with  such  success. 

But  the  Megaric  doctrine  was  too  meagre  for  him.  He  was 
glad  to  learn  from  Stilpo ;  but  there  were  things  which  Stilpo 
could  not  teach.  He  turned,  therefore,  to  the  expositors  of  Pla 
to — Xenocrates  and  Polemo.  In  the  philosophy  of  Plato  there 
is,  as  before  remarked,  a  germ  of  Stoicism ;  but  there  is  also 
much  that  contradicts  Stoicism,  and  so,  we  presume,  Zeno  grew 
discontented  with  that  also. 

After  twenty  years  of  laborious  study  in  these  various  schools, 
he  opened  one  for  himself,  wherein  to  teach  the  result  of  all 
these  inquiries.  The  spot  chosen  was  the  Stoa,  or  Porch,  which 
had  once  been  the  resort  of  the  Poets,  and  was  decorated  with 
the  pictures  of  Polygnotus.  From  this  Stoa  the  school  derived 
its  name. 

As  a  man,  Zeno  appears  deserving  of  the  highest  respect. 
Although  sharing  the  doctrines  of  the  Cynics,  he  did  not  share 
their  grossness,  their  insolence,  or  their  affectation.  In  person  he 
was  tall  and  slender ;  and  although  of  a  weakly  constitution,  he 
lived  to  a  great  age,  being  rigidly  abstemious,  feeding  mainly 
upon  figs,  bread,  and  honey.  His  brow  was  furrowed  with 
thought ;  and  this  gave  a  tinge  of  severity  to  his  aspect,  which 
accorded  with  the  austerity  of  his  doctrines.  So  honored  and 
respected  was  he  by  the  Athenians,  that  they  intrusted  to  him 
the  keys  of  the  citadel ;  and  when  he  died  they  erected  to  his 
memory  a  statue  of  brass.  His  death  is  thus  recorded  : — In  his 
ninety -eighth  year,  as  he  was  stepping  out  of  his  school,  he  fell 
and  broke  his  finger.  He  was  so  affected  at  the  consciousness  of 
his  infirmity,  that,  striking  the  earth,  he  exclaimed,  "  Why  am  I 
thus  importuned  ?  Earth,  I  obey  thy  summons  !"  He  went  home 
and  strangled  himself. 

In  the  history  of  humanity  there  are  periods  when  society 


ZENO.  283 

seems  fast  dissolving ;  when  ancient  creeds  have  lost  their  ma 
jesty,  and  new  creeds  want  disciples ;  when  the  onlooker  sees  the 
fabric  tottering,  beneath  which  his  fellow-men  are  crowded  either 
in  sullen  despair  or  in  blaspheming  levity,  and,  seeing  this,  he 
feels  that  there  is  safety  still  possible,  if  men  will  but  be  bold ; 
he  raises  a  voice  of  warning,  and  a  voice  of  exhortation ;  he 
bids  them  behold  their  peril  and  tremble,  behold  their  salvation 
and  resolve.  He  preaches  to  them  a  doctrine  they  have  been 
unused  to  hear,  or,  hearing  it,  unused  to  heed ;  and  by  the 
mere  force  of  his  own  intense  conviction  he  gathers  round  him 
some  believers  who  are  saved.  If  the  social  anarchy  be  not  too 
widely  spread,  he  saves  his  country  by  directing  its  energies 
in  a  new  channel ;  if  the  country's  doom  is  sealed,  he  makes  a 
gallant  effort,  though  a  vain  one,  and  "  leaves  a  spotless  name  to 
after-times." 

Such  a  man  was  Zeno.  Greece  was  fallen ;  but  hope  still  re 
mained.  A  wide-spread  disease  was  fast  eating  out  the  vigor 
of  its  life :  Skepticism,  Indifference,  Sensuality,  Epicurean  soft 
ness  were  only  counteracted  by  the  magnificent  but  vague  works 
of  Plato,  or  the  vast  but  abstruse  system  of  Aristotle.  Greek 
civilization  was  fast  falling  to  decay.  A  little  time,  and  Rome, 
the  she-wolfs  nursling,  would  usurp  the  place  which  Greece  had 
once  so  proudly  held — the  place  of  vanguard  of  European  civiliza 
tion.  Rome,  the  mighty,  would  take  from  the  feeble  hands  of 
Greece  the  trust  she  was  no  longer  worthy  to  hold.  There  was 
a  presentiment  of  Rome  in  Zeno's  breast.  In  him  the  manly 
energy  and  stern  simplicity  which  were  to  conquer  the  world ; 
in  him  the  deep  reverence  for  moral  worth,  which  was  the  glory 
of  Rome,  before,  intoxicated  with  success,  she  sought  to  ape  the 
literary  and  philosophical  glory  of  old  Hellas.  Zeno  the  Stoic 
had  a  Roman  spirit ;  and  this  is  the  reason  why  so  many  noble 
Romans  became  his  disciples :  he  had  deciphered  the  wants  of 
their  spiritual  nature. 

Alarmed  at  the  skepticism  which  seemed  inevitably  following 
speculations  of  a  metaphysical  kind,  Zeno,  like  Epicurus,  fixed 


284:  THE    STOICS. 

his  thoughts  principally  upon  Morals.  His  philosophy  boasted 
of  being  eminently  practical,  and  connected  with  the  daily  prac 
tices  of  life.  But,  for  this  purpose,  the  philosopher  must  not 
regard  pleasure  so  much  as  Virtue  :  nor  does  Virtue  consist  in  a 
life  of  contemplation  and  speculation,  but  in  a  life  of  activity ; 
for  what  is  Virtue  ? — Virtue  is  manhood.  And  what  are  the 
attributes  of  Man  ?  Are  they  not  obviously  the  attributes  of  an 
active  as  well  as  of  a  speculative  being  ?  and  can  that  be  Virtue 
which  excludes  or  neglects  man's  activity  ?  Man,  O  Plato,  and 
0  Aristotle,  was  not  made  for  speculation  only ;  wisdom  is  not 
his  only  pursuit.  Man,  0  Epicurus,  was  not  made  for  enjoyment 
only;  he  was  made  also  to  do  somewhat,  and  to  be  somewhat. 
Philosophy  ? — It  is  a  great  thing ;  but  it  is  not  all.  Pleasure  ? 
— It  is  a  slight  thing ;  and,  were  it  greater,  could  not  embrace 
men's  entire  activity. 

The  aim,  then,  of  man's  existence  is  neither  to  be  wise  nor  to 
enjoy,  but  to  be  virtuous — to  realize  his  manhood.  To  this  aim, 
Philosophy  is  a  means,  and  Pleasure  may  also  be  one ;  but  they 
are  both  subordinate.  Before  we  can  be  taught  to  lead  a  vir 
tuous  life,  we  must  be  taught  what  Virtue  is.  Zeno  thought, 
with  Socrates,  that  Virtue  was  the  knowledge  of  Good ;  and  that 
Vice  was  nothing  but  error.  If  to  know  the  good  were  tanta 
mount  to  the  pursuit  and  practice  of  it,  then  was  the  teacher's 
task  easily  defined  :  he  had  to  explain  the  nature  of  human 
knowledge,  and  to  explain  the  relations  of  man  to  the  universe. 

Thus,  as  with  Socrates,  does  Morality  find  itself  inseparably 
connected  with  Philosophy ;  and  more  especially  with  psychol 
ogy.  A  brief  outline  of  this  psychology  becomes,  therefore, 
necessary  as  an  introduction  to  the  Stoical  Morality. 

Zeno  utterly  rejected  the  Platonic  theory  of  knowledge,  and 
accepted,  though  with  some  modifications,  the  Aristotelian  theory. 
"Reminiscence"  and  "Ideas"  were  to  him  mere  words.  Ideas 
he  regarded  as  the  universal  notions  formed  by  the  mind  from  a 
comparison  of  particulars.  Sense  furnished  all  the  materials  oi 
knowledge;  Reason  was  the  plastic  instrument  whereby  these 


ZENO.  285 

materials  were  fashioned.  But  those  who  maintain  that  Sense 
furnishes  us  the  materials  of  knowledge  are  hampered  with  this 
difficulty :  By  what  process  does  Sense  perceive  ?  What  rela 
tion  is  there  between  Sense  and  the  sensible  Thing  ?  AVhat 
proof  have  wre  of  those  sensations  being  conformable  with  the 
Things  ?  This  difficulty  is  a  serious  one,  and  early  occupied 
speculators.  Indeed,  this  question  may  be  pronounced  the  vital 
question  of  all  philosophy ;  upon  its  solution  depends,  to  a  great 
extent,  the  solution  of  all  other  questions.  Let  us  state  it  more 
clearly  in  an  illustration. 

At  the  distance  of  fifty  yards  you  descry  a  tower;  it  is  round. 
What  do  you  mean  by  saying,  It  is  round  ?  You  mean  that  the 
impression  made  upon  your  sense  of  sight  is  an  impression  sim 
ilar  to  that  made  by  some  other  objects,  such  as  trees,  which 
you,  and  all  men,  call  round.  Now,  on  the  supposition  that  you 
never  approached  nearer  that  tower,  you  would  always  believe  it 
to  be  round,  because  it  appeared  so.  But,  as  you  are  enabled  to 
approach  it,  and  as  you  then  find  that  the  tower  is  square,  and 
not  round,  you  begin  to  examine  into  this  difference.  It  appeared 
round  at  that  distance ;  and  yet  you  say  it  really  is  square.  A 
little  knowledge  of  optics  seems  to  explain  the  difference ;  but 
does  not.  At  fifty  yards,  you  say,,  it  appears  round  ;  but  it  really 
is  square.  At  fifty  yards,  we  reply,  it  appears  round,  and  at  one 
yard  it  appears  square  :  it  is  neither  :  both  round  and  square  are 
conceptions  of  the  mind,  not  attributes  of  things :  they  have  a 
subjective,  not  an  objective  existence. 

Thus  far  the  ancient  skeptics  penetrated ;  but,  seeing  herein 
an  utter  destruction  of  all  certainty  in  sense-knowledge,  and  com 
pelled  to  admit  that  Sense  was  the  only  source  of  knowledge, 
they  declared  all  .knowledge  a  deceit.  The  perception  of  the 
real  issue  whence  to  escape  this  dilemma — the  recognition  of  the 
uncertainty  of  sense-knowledge,  and  the  reconciliation  of  that 
theory  with  the  natural  wants  of  the  speculative  mind — recon 
ciling  skepticism  with  belief  and  both  with  reason,  was  the  work 
of  after-times.. 


286  THE   STOICS. 

Those  who  believed  that  the  senses  gave  true  reports  of  the 
Things  which  affected  them,  were  driven  to  invent  some  hypoth 
esis  explanatory  of  the  relation  subsisting  between  the  object  and 
the  Subject,  the  Thing  and  the  Sense.  We  have  seen  how  eidola, 
airy  Images  affluent  from  Things,  were  invented  to  choke  up  the 
gap,  and  to  establish  a  direct  connection  between  the  Subject 
and  the  Object.  Zeno,  acutely  enough,  saw  that  an  Image  de 
taching  itself  in  an  airy  form  from  the  Object,  could  only  repre 
sent  the  superficies  of  that  Object,  even  if  it  represented  it  cor 
rectly.  In  this  way  the  hypothesis  of  cidola  was  shown  to  be 
no  more  than  an  hypothesis  to  explain  Appearances ;  whereas 
the  real  question  is  not,  How  do  we  perceive  Appearances  ?  but 
how  do  we  perceive  Objects  ?  If  we  only  perceive  their  super 
ficies,  our  knowledge  is  only  a  knowledge  of  phenomena,  and  we 
fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Skeptics. 

Zeno  saw  the  extent  of  the  difficulty,  and  tried  to  obviate  it. 
But  his  hypothesis,  though  more  comprehensive,  was  as  com 
pletely  without  foundation.  He  assumed  that  Sense  could  pene 
trate  beneath  Appearance,  and  perceive  Substance  itself. 

As  considerable  confusion  exists  on  this  point,  we  shall  con 
fine  ourselves  to  the  testimony  of  Sextus  Empiricus,  the  most 
satisfactory  of  all.  In  his  book  directed  against  the  Logicians, 
he  tells  us,  "  the  Stoics  held  that  there  was  one  criterium  of  truth 
for  man,  and  it  was  what  they  called  the  Cataleptic  Phantasm" 
(<n}v  xarstXirrr-Tixr/v  (pavratf/av,  i.  e.  the  Sensuous  Apprehension). 
We  must  first  understand  what  they  meant  by  the  Phantasm 
or  Appearance.  It  was,  they  said,  an  impression  on  the  mind 
(rutfutfis  tv  ^uxS)'  ^Llt  fr°m  this  point  commence  their  differ 
ences  j  for  Cleanthus  understood,  by  this  impression,  an  impres 
sion  similar  to  that  made  by  the  signet-ring  upon  wax,  TOU  xyjpou 
Tj-rr'wfl'jv.  Chrysippus  thought  this  absurd  ;  for,  said  he,  seeing 
that  thought  conceives  many  objects  at  the  same  time,  the  soul 
must  upon  that  hypothesis  receive  many  impressions  of  figures. 
He  thought  that  Zeno  meant  by  impression  nothing  more  than  a 
mollification  (Srspoiutfif)  :  likening  the  soul  to  the  air,  which 


ZENO.  287 

when  many  voices  sound  simultaneously,  receives  simultaneously 
the  various  alterations,  but  without  confounding  them.  Thus 
the  Soul  unites  several  perceptions  which  correspond  with  their 
several  objects. 

This  is  extremely  ingenious,  and  the  indication  of  Sensation 
as  a  modification  of  the  Soul,  opens  a  shaft  deep  down  into  the 
dark  region  of  psychology.  But,  if  it  lets  in  some  of  the  light 
of  day,  it  also  brings  into  notice  a  new  obstacle.  This  soul, 
which  is  modified,  does  it  not  also  in  its  turn  exercise  an  in 
fluence  ?  If  wine  be  poured  into  water,  it  modifies  the  water; 
but  the  water  also  modifies  the  wine.  There  can  be  no  action 
without  reaction.  If  a  stone  is  presented  to  my  sight,  it  modi 
fies  my  soul ;  but  does  the  stone  remain  unmodified  ? — No  ;  it 
receives  from  me  certain  attributes,  certain  form,  color,  taste, 
weight,  etc.,  which  my  soul  bestows  on  it,  which  it  does  not 
possess  in  itself. 

Thus  is  doubt  again  spread  over  the  whole  question.  The  soul 
modifying  the  object  in  sensation,  can  it  rely  upon  the  truth  of 
the  sensation  thus  produced  ?  Has  not  the  wine  become  watery, 
no  less  than  the  water  vinous  ?  These  consequences,  however, 
Zeno  did  not  foresee.  He  was  intent  upon  proving  that  the  soul 
really  apprehended  objects,  not  as  eidola,  not  as  the  wax  receives 
the  impression  of  a  seal,  but  in  absolute  truth.  Let  us  continue 
to  borrow  from  Sextus  Empiricus. 

The  Phantasm,  or  Appearance,  which  causes  that  Modification 
of  the  Soul  which  we  name  Sensation,  is  also  understood  by  the 
Stoics  as  we  understand  ideas ;  and  in  this  general  sense,  they 
said  that  there  were  three  kinds  of  Phantasms :  those  that  were 
probable,  those  that  were  improbable,  and  those  that  were 
neither  one  nor  the  other.  The  first  are  those  that  cause  a  slight 
and  equable  motion  in  the  soul :  such  as  those  which  inform  us 
that  it  is  day.  The  second  are  those  which  contradict  our  reason  : 
such  as  if  one  were  to  say  during  the  day-time,  "  Now  the  sun  is 
not  above  the  earth ;"  or,  during  the  night-time,  "  Now  it  is  day." 
The  third  are  those,  the  truth  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  verify ; 


288  THE   STOICS. 

such  as  this,  "  The  number  of  the  stars  is  even  ;"  or,  "  the  number 
is  odd." 

Phantasms,  when  probable,  are  true  or  false,  or  both  true  and 
false  at  the  same  time,  or  neither  true  nor  false.  They  are  true 
when  they  can  be  truly  affirmed  of  any  thing  ;  false  if  they  are 
wrongly  affirmed,  such  as  when  one  believes  an  oar  dipped  in  the 
water  to  be  broken,  because  it  appears  so.  When  Orestes,  in  his 
madness,  mistook  Electra  for  a  Fury,  he  had  a  Phantasm  both 
true  and  false :  true,  inasmuch  as  he  saw  something,  viz.,  Elec 
tra  ;  false,  inasmuch  as  Electra  -was  not  a  Fury. 

Of  true  Phantasms,  some  are  cataleptic  (apprehensive),  and 
others  non-cataleptic.  The  latter  are  such  as  arise  from  disease 
or  perturbation  of  the  mind  :  as,  for  instance,  the  innumerable 
Phantasms  produced  in  frenzy  and  hypochondria.  The  catalep 
tic  Phantasm  is  that  which  is  impressed  by  an  object  which  ex 
ists,  which  is  a  copy  of  that  object,  and  can  be  produced  by  no 
other  object.  Perception  is  elsewhere  said  to  be  a  sort  of  light, 
which  manifests  itself  at  the  same  time  that  it  lights  up  the  ob 
ject  from  which  it  is  derived.  - 

Zeno  distinctly  saw  the  weakness  of  the  theories  proposed  by 
others ;  he  failed  however  in  establishing  any  better  theory  in 
their  place.  Sextus  Empiricus  may  well  call  the  Stoical  doctrine 
vague  and  undecided.  How  are  we  to  distinguish  the  true  from 
the  false  in  appearances  ?  Above  all,  how  are  we  to-  learn  whether 
an  impression  exactly  coincides  with  the  object  ?  This  is  the 
main  problem,  and  Zeno  pretends  to  solve  it  by  a  circular  argu 
ment.  Thus :  given  the  problem,  how  are  we  to  distinguish  the 
true  impressions  from  the  false  impressions  ?  The  solution  offered 
is,  by  ascertaining  which  of  the  impressions  coincide  with  the 
real  objects :  in  other  words,  by  distinguishing  the  true  impres 
sions  from  the  false. 

Let  us  continue  the  exposition : — Having  a<  perception  of  an 
object  is  not  knowledge :  for  knowledge,  it  is  necessary  that 
reason  should  assent.  Perception  comes  from  without;  assent 
from  within  :  it  is  the  free  exercise  of  man's  reason-  Science  is 


ZENO.  289 

composed  of  perceptions  so  solidly  established  that  no  argumen 
tation  can  shake  them.  Perceptions  not  thus  established  only 
constitute  Opinion. 

This  is  making  short  work  with  difficulties,  it  must  be  con 
fessed  ;  but  the  Stoics  were  eager  to  oppose  something  against 
the  Skepticism  which  characterized  the  age;  and,  in  their  eager 
ness  to  build,  they  did  not  sufficiently  secure  their  foundations. 
Universal  doubt  they  felt  to  be  impossible.  Man  must  occa 
sionally  assent,  and  that  too  in  a  constant  and  absolute  manner. 
There  are  perceptions  which  carry  with  them  irresistible  convic 
tion.  There  would  be  no  possibility  of  action  unless  there  were 
some  certain  truth.  Where  then  is  conviction  to  stop  ?  That 
all  our  perceptions  are  not  correct,  every  one  is  willing  to  admit. 
But  which  are  exact,  and  which  are  inexact  ?  What  criterium 
have  we?  The  criterium  we  possess  is  Evidence.  "Nothing 
can  be  clearer  than  evidence,"  they  said ;  "  and,  being  so  clear, 
it  needs  no  definition."  This  was  precisely  what  it  did  want ; 
but  the  Stoics  could  not  give  it. 

In  truth,  the  Stoics,  combating  the  Skepticism  of  their  age, 
were  reduced  to  the  same  strait  as  Reid,  Beattie,  and  Hutcheson, 
combating  the  Skepticism  of  Hume :  reduced  to  give  up  Philos 
ophy,  and  to  find  refuge  in  Common-Sense.  The  battle  fought 
by  the  Stoics  is  very  analogous  to  the  battle  fought  by  the 
Scotch  philosophers,  in  the  ground  occupied,  in  the  instruments 
employed,  in  the  enemy  attacked,  and  the  object  to  be  gained. 
They  both  fought  for  Morality,  which  they  thought  endangered. 

We  shall  subsequently  have  to  consider  the  Common-Sense 
theory :  enough  if  we  now  call  attention  to  the  curious  ignoratio 
elenchi — the  curious  misconception  of  the  real  force  of  the  enemy, 
and  the  utter  helplessness  of  their  own  position,  which  the  Com 
mon-Sense  philosophers  displayed.  The  Skeptics  had  made  an 
irresistible  onslaught  upon  the  two  fortresses  of  philosophy,  Per 
ception  and  Reason.  They  showed  Perception  to  be  based  upon 
Appearance,  and  Appearance  to  be  only  Appearance,  but  not 
Certainty.  They  showed  also  that  Reason  was  unable  to  dis- 

13 


290  THE   STOICS. 

tinguish  between  Appearance  and  Certainty,  because,  in  the  first 
place,  it  had  nothing  but  Phenomena  (Appearances)  to  build 
upon ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  because  there  is  no  criterium  to 
apply  to  Reason  itself.  Having  gained  this  victory,  they  pro 
claimed  Philosophy  no  longer  existent.  "Whereupon  the  Stoics 
valorously  rise,  and,  taking  their  stand  upon  Common-Sense,  be 
lieve  they  rout  the  forces  of  the  Skeptics ;  believe  they  retake 
the  lost  fortresses  by  declaring  that  Perceptions  are  true  as  well 
as  false,  and  that  you  may  distinguish  the  true  from  the  false, 
by — distinguishing  them :  and  that  Reason  has  its  criterium  in 
Evidence,  which  requires  no  criterium,  it  is  so  clear.  This  seems 
to  us  pretty  much  the  same  as  if  the  French  were  to  invade 
Great  Britain,  possess  themselves  of  London,  Edinburgh,  and 
Dublin,  declare  England  the  subject  of  France,  and  patriots  were 
then  to  declare  that  the  French  were  to  be  driven  home  again 
by  a  party  of  volunteers  taking  their  stand  upon  Hampstead 
Heath,  displaying  the  banners  of  England,  and  with  loud  alarums 
proclaiming  the  invaders  defeated. 

But  it  is  time  to  consider  the  Ethical  doctrines  of  the  Stoics ; 
and  to  do  this  effectually  we  must  glance  at  their  conception  of 
the  Deity.  There  are  two  elements  in  Nature.  The  first  is  uX>j 
tfpwTT),  or  primordial  matter;  the  passive  element  from  which 
things  are  formed.  The  second  is  the  active  element,  which 
forms  things  out  of  matter :  Reason,  Destiny  (sipxpjxsv^),  God. 
The  divine  Reason  operating  upon  matter  bestows  upon  it  the 
laws  which  govern  it,  laws  which  the  Stoics  called  Xo'^oj  oVsp- 
fxarjxoi,  or  productive  causes.  God  is  the  Reason  of  the  world. 

With  this  speculative  doctrine  it  is  easy  to  connect  their  prac 
tical  doctrine.  Their  Ethics  are  easily  to  be  deduced  from  their 
theology.  If  Reason  is  the  great  creative  law,  to  live  conform 
ably  with  Reason  must  be  the  practical  moral  law.  If  the  uni 
verse  be  subject  to  a  general  law,  every  part  of  that  universe 
must  also  be  duly  subordinate  to  it.  The  consequence  is  clear : 
there  is  but  one  formula  for  Morals,  and  that  is,  "  Live  harmo 
niously  with  Nature,"  o/xoXo^ojxsvwj  ry  (pixfst  ffiv. 


ZENO.  291 

This  is  easily  said.  An  anxious  disciple  might  however  desire 
greater  precision,  and  ask,  Is  it  universal  nature,  or  is  it  the  par 
ticular  nature  of  man,  that  I  am  to  live  in  unison  with  ?  Cle- 
anthes  taught  the  former;  Chrjsippus  the  latter;  or,  we  should 
rather  say,  taught  that  both  individual  and  universal  nature 
should  be  understood  by  the  formula.  And  this  appears  to  have 
been  the  sense  in  which  it  was  usually  interpreted. 

The  distinctive  tendency  of  the  formula  cannot  be  mistaken : 
it  is  to  reduce  every  thing  to  Reason,  which,  as  it  has  supremacy 
in  creation,  must  also  have  supremacy  in  man.  This  is  also  the 
Platonic  conception.  It  makes  Logic  the  rule  of  life ;  and  as 
sumes  that  there  is  nothing  in  man's  mind  which  cannot  be 
reduced  within  the  limits  of  Logic ;  assumes  that  man  is  all  in 
tellect.  It  follows,  that  every  thing  which  interferes  with  a 
purely  intellectual  existence  is  to  be  eliminated  as  dangerous. 
The  pleasures  and  the  pains  of  the  body  are  to  be  despised  :  only 
the  pleasures  and  the  pains  of  the  intellect  are  worthy  to  occupy 
man.  By  his  passions  he  is  made  a  slave ;  by  his  intellect  he  is 
free.  His  senses  are  passive ;  his  intellect  is  active.  It  is  his 
duty  therefore  to  surmount  and  despise  his  passions  and  his 
senses,  that  he  may  be  free,  active,  virtuous. 

We  have  here  the  doctrine  of  the  Cynics,  somewhat  purified, 
but  fundamentally  the  same ;  we  have  here  also  the  anticipation 
of  Rome ;  the  forethought  of  that  which  was  subsequently  real 
ized  in  act.  Rome  was  the  fit  theatre  of  Stoicism,  because  Rome 
was  peopled  with  soldiers :  these  soldiers  had  their  contempt  of 
death  formed  in  perpetual  campaigns.  How  little  the  Romans 
regarded  the  life  of  man  their  history  shows.  The  gladiatorial 
combats,  brutal  and  relentless,  must  have  hardened  the  minds  of 
all  spectators ;  and  there  were  no  softening  influences  to  counter 
act  them.  How  different  the  Greeks !  They  did  not  pretend  to 
despise  this  beautiful  life ;  they  did  not  affect  to  be  above  hu 
manity.  Life  was  precious,  and  they  treasured  it :  treasured  it 
not  with  petty  fear,  but  with  noble  ingenuousness.  They  loved 
life,  and  wept  on  quitting  it;  and  they  wept  without  shame. 


292  THE   STOICS. 

They  loved  life,  and  they  said  so.  When  the  time  came  for 
them  to  risk  it,  or  to  give  it  for  their  country,  or  their  honor, — 
when  something  they  prized  higher  was  to  be  gained  by  the  sac 
rifice, — then  they  died  unflinchingly.  The  tears  shed  by  Achilles 
and  Ulysses  did  not  unman  them  :  these  heroes  fought  terribly, 
as  they  loved  tenderly.  Philoctetes,  in  agony,  howls  like  a  wild 
beast,  because  he  feels  pain,  and  feels  no  shame  in  expressing  it. 
But  these  shrieks  have  not  softened  him :  he  is  still  the  same 
stern,  terrible,  implacable  Philoctetes. 

The  Stoics,  in  their  dread  of  becoming  effeminate,  became  mar 
ble.  They  despised  pain;  they  despised  death.  To  be  above 
pain  was  thought  manly.  They  did  not  see,  that,  in  this  respect, 
instead  of  being  above  Humanity,  they  sank  miserably  below  it. 
If  it  is  a  condition  of  our  human  organization  to  be  susceptible 
of  pain,  it  is  only  affectation  to  conceal  the  expression  of  that 
pain.  Could  silence  stifle  pain,  it  were  well ;  but  to  stifle  the 
cry,  is  not  to  stifle  the  feeling ;  and  to  have  a  feeling,  yet  affect 
not  to  have  it,  is  pitiful.  The  Savage  soon  learns  that  philosophy ; 
but  the  civilized  man  is  superior  to  it.  You  receive  a  blow,  and 
you  do  not  wince  ?  so  much  of  heroism  is  displayed  by  a  stone. 
You  are  face  to  face  with  Death,  and  you  have  no  regrets  ?  then 
you  are  unworthy  of  life.  Real  heroism  feels  the  pain  it  con 
quers,  and  loves  the  life  it  surrenders  in  a  noble  cause. 

As  a  reaction  against  effeminacy,  Stoicism  may  be  applauded  ; 
as  a  doctrine  it  is  one-sided.  It  ends  in  apathy  and  egoism. 
Apathy,  indeed,  was  considered  by  the  Stoics  as  the  highest  con 
dition  of  humanity ;  whereas,  in  truth,  it  is  the  lowest. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
THE    NEW    ACADEMY. 

§  I.  ARCESILAUS  AND  CARNEADES. 

THE  New  Academy  would  solicit  our  attention,  were  it  only 
for  the  celebrity  bestowed  on  it  by  Cicero  and  Horace ;  but  it 
has  other  and  higher  points  of  interest  than  those  of  literary  cu 
riosity.  The  combat  of  which  it  was  the  theatre  was,  and  is,  of 
singular  importance.  The  questions  connected  with  it  are  those 
vital  questions  respecting  the  origin  and  certitude  of  human  knowl 
edge,  which  so  long  have  occupied  the  ingenuity  of  thinkers ; 
and  the  consequences  which  flow  from  either  solution  of  the  prob 
lem  are  of  the  utmost  importance. 

The  Stoics  endeavored  to  establish  the  certitude  of  human 
knowledge,  in  order  that  they  might  establish  the  truth  of  mor 
al  principles.  They  attacked  the  doctrines  of  the  Skeptics,  and 
believed  they  triumphed  by  bringing  forward  their  own  doctrine 
of  Common-Sense.  But  the  New  Academicians  had  other  argu 
ments  to  offer.  They  too  were  Skeptics,  although  their  skepti 
cism  differed  from  that  of  the  Pyrrhonists.  The  nature  of  this 
difference  Sextus  Empiricus  has  noted.  "  Many  persons,"  says  he, 
"  confound  the  Philosophy  of  the  Academy  with  that  of  the  Skep 
tics.  But  although  the  disciples  of  the  New  Academy  declare 
that  all  things  are  incomprehensible ;  yet  they  are  distinguished 
from  the  Pyrrhonists  in  this  very  dogmatism :  they  affirm  that 
all  things  are  incomprehensible — the  Skeptics  do  not  affirm  that. 
Moreover,  the  Skeptics  consider  all  perceptions  perfectly  equal  as 
to  the  faithfulness  of  their  testimony ;  the  Academicians  distin 
guish  between  probable  and  improbable  perceptions:  the  first 


294:  THE   NEW   ACADEMY. 

they  class  under  various  heads.  There  are  some,  they  say,  which 
are  merely  probable,  others  which  are  also  confirmed  by  reflec 
tion,  others  which  are  subject  to  no  doubt.  Assent  is  of  two 
kinds :  simple  assent,  which  the  mind  yields  without  repugnance 
as  without  desire,  such  as  that  of  a  child  following  its  master ; 
and  the  assent  which  follows  upon  conviction  and  reflection.  The 
Skeptics  admitted  the  former  kind ;  the  Academicians  the  latter." 

These  differences  are  of  no  great  moment ;  but  in  the  history 
of  sects  we  find  the  smallest  variation  invested  with  a  degree  of 
importance ;  and  we  can  understand  the  pertinacity  with  which 
the  Academicians  distinguished  themselves  from  the  Skeptics, 
even  on  such  slight  grounds  as  the  above. 

In  treating  of  the  Academicians  we  are  forced  to  follow  the 
plan  pursued  with  the  Skeptics,  namely  to  consider  the  doctrines 
of  the  whole  sect,  rather  than  to  particularize  the  share  of  each 
individual  member.  The  Middle  Academy  and  the  New  Aca 
demy  we  thus  unite  in  one ;  although  the  ancients  drew  a  dis 
tinction  between  them,  it  is  difficult  for  moderns  to  do  so. 
Arcesilaus  and  Carneades,  therefore,  shall  be  our  types. 

Arcesilaus  was  born  at  Pitane  in  the  116th  Olympiad  (B.  c. 
316).  He  was  early  taught  mathematics  and  rhetoric,  became 
the  pupil  of  Theophrastus,  afterwards  of  Aristotle,  and  finally  of 
Polemo  the  Platonist.  In  this  last  school  he  was  contemporary 
with  Zeno,  and  probably  there  began  that  antagonism  which  was 
so  remarkable  in  their  subsequent  career.  On  the  death  of 
Crates,  Arcesilaus  filled  the  Academic  chair,  and  filled  it  with 
great  ability  and  success.  His  fascinating  manners  won  him 
general  regard.  He  was  learned  and  sweet-tempered,  and  gener 
ous  to  a  fault.  Visiting  a  sick  friend,  who,  he  saw,  was  suffering 
from  privation,  he  slipped,  unobserved,  a  purse  of  gold  under 
neath  the  sick  man's  pillow.  When  the  attendant  discovered  it, 
the  sick  man  said  with  a  smile,  "  This  is  one  of  Arcesilaus's  gen 
erous  frauds."  He  was  of  a  somewhat  luxurious  temper,  but  he 
lived  till  the  age  of  seventy-five,  when  he  killed  himself  by  hard 
drinking. 


ARCESILATJS    AND    CAKNEADES.  295 

Carneades,  the  most  illustrious  of  the  Academicians,  was  born 
at  Gyrene,  in  Africa,  01.  141,  4  (B.  c.  213).  He  was  a  pupil  of 
Diogenes  the  Stoic,  who  taught  him  the  subtleties  of  disputation. 
This  made  him  sometimes  exclaim  in  the  course  of  a  debate  :  "  If 
I  have  reasoned  rightly,  you  are  wrong ;  if  not,  0  Diogenes,  return 
me  the  mina  I  paid  you  for  my  lessons."  On  leaving  Diogenes 
he  became  the  pupil  of  Hegesinus,  who  then  held  the  Academic 
chair ;  by  him  he  was  instructed  in  the  skeptical  principles  of 
the  Academy,  and  on  his  death  he  succeeded  to  his  chair.  He 
also  diligently  studied  the  voluminous  writings  of  Chrysippus. 
These  were  of  great  value  to  him,  exercising  his  subtlety,  and 
trying  the  temper  of  his  own  metal.  He  owed  so  much  to  this 
opponent  that  he  used  to  say,  "  Had  there  not  been  a  Chrysippus, 
I  should  not  be  what  I  am  :"  a  sentiment  very  easy  of  explana 
tion.  There  are  two  kinds  of  writers  :  those  who  directly  instruct 
us  in  sound  knowledge,  and  those  who  indirectly  lead  us  to  the 
truth  by  the  very  opposition  they  raise  against  their  views. 
Next  to  exact  knowledge,  there  is  nothing  so  instructive  as  exact 
error :  an  error  clearly  stated,  and  presented  in  somewhat  the 
same  way  as  it  at  first  presented  itself  to  the  mind  which  now 
upholds  it,  enables  us  to  see  not  only  that  it  is  an  error,  but  by 
what  process  it  was  deduced  from  its  premises,  and  thus  is 
among  the  most  valuable  modes  of  instruction.  It  is  better  than 
direct  instruction :  better,  because  the  learner's  mind  is  called 
into  full  activity,  and  apprehends  the  truth  for  itself,  instead  of 
passively  assenting  to  it. 

Carneades  was  justified  in  his  praise  of  Chrysippus.  He  felt 
how  much  he  owed  to  his  antagonist.  He  felt  that  to  him  he 
owed  a  clear  conception  of  the  Stoical  error,  and  a  clear  convic 
tion  of  the  truth  of  the  Academic  doctrine ;  and  owed  also  no 
inconsiderable  portion  of  that  readiness  and  subtlety  which 
marked  him  out  amongst  his  countrymen  as  a  fitting  Ambassa 
dor  to  send  to  Rome. 

Carneades  in  Rome — Skepticism  in  the  Stoic  city — presents 
an  interesting  picture.  The  Romans  crowded  round  him,  fas- 


296  THE  NEW  ACADEMY; 

cinated  by  his  subtlety  and  eloquence.  Before  Galba — before 
Cato  the  Censor — he  harangued  with  marvellous  unction  in 
praise  of  Justice  ;  and  the  hard  brow  of  the  grim  Stoic  softened  ; 
an  approving  smile  played  over  those  thin  firm  lips.  But  the 
next  day  the  brilliant  orator  undertook  to  exhibit  the  uncertainty 
of  all  human  knowledge  ;  and,  as  a  proof,  he  refuted  all  the  argu 
ments  with  which  the  day  before  he  had  supported  Justice.  He 
spoke  against  Justice  as  convincingly  as  he  had  spoken  for  it. 
The  brow  of  Cato  darkened  again,  and  with  a  keen  instinct  of 
the  dangers  of  such  ingenuity  operating  upon  the  Roman  youth, 
he  persuaded  the  Senate  to  send  back  the  Philosophers  to  their 
own  country. 

Carneades  returned  to  Athens,  and  there  renewed  his  contest 
with  the  Stoics.  He  taught  with  great  applause,  and  lived  to 
the  advanced  age  of  ninety. 

That  the  Academicians  should  have  embraced  Skepticism  is 
not  strange :  indeed,  as  we  have  said,  Skepticism  was  the  inevit 
able  result  of  the  tendencies  of  the  whole  epoch ;  and  the  only 
sect  which  did  not  accept  it  was  forced  to  find  a  refuge  in  Com 
mon-Sense  :  that  is  to  say,  was  forced  to  find  refuge  in  the  abdi 
cation  of  Philosophy,  which  abdication  was  in  itself  a  species  of 
Skepticism.  But  it  may  seem  strange  that  the  Academy  should 
derive  itself  from  Plato ;  it  may  seem  strange  that  Arcesilaus 
should  be  a  continuer  and  a  warm  admirer  of  Plato.  The  an 
cients  themselves,  according  to  Sextus  Empiricus,  were  divided 
amongst  each  other  respecting  Plato's  real  doctrine  ;  some  con 
sidering  him  a  skeptic,  others  a  dogmatist.  We  have  already 
explained  the  cause  of  this  difference  of  opinion,  and  have  shown 
how  very  little  consistency  and  precision  there  is  in  the  ideas  of 
Plato  upon  all  subjects  except  Method.  Skepticism,  therefore, 
might  very  easily  result  from  a  study  of  his  writings.  But  this 
is  not  all.  Plato's  attack  upon  the  theories  of  his  predecessors, 
which  were  grounded  upon  sense-knowledge,  is  constant,  triumph 
ant.  The  dialogue  of  the  Thecetetus,  which  is  devoted  to  the 
subject  of  Philosophy,  is  an  exposition  of  the  incapacity  of  sense 


AKCESILAUS    AND   CAKNEADES.  297 

to  furnish  materials  for  Philosophy.  All  that  sense  can  furnish 
the  materials  for,  is  Opinion,  and  Opinion,  as  he  frequently  de 
clares,  even  when  it  is  Right  Opinion,  never  can  be  Philosophy. 
Plato,  in  short,  destroyed  all  the  old  foundations  upon  which 
theories  had  been  constructed.  He  cleared  the  ground  before 
commencing  his  own  work.  By  this  means  he  obviated  the  at 
tacks  of  the  Sophists,  and  yet  refused  to  sustain  the  onus  of  errors 
which  his  predecessors  had  accumulated.  The  Sophists  saw  the 
weakness  of  the  old  belief,  and  attacked  it.  Having  reduced  it 
to  ruins,  they  declared  themselves  triumphant.  Plato  appeared, 
and  admitted  the  fact  of  the  old  fortress  being  in  ruins,  and  its 
deserving  to  be  so ;  but  he  denied  that  the  city  of  Truth  was 
taken.  "Expend,"  said  he,  "your  wrath  and  skill  in  battering 
down  such  fortresses ;  I  will  assist  you ;  for  I  too  declare  them 
useless.  But  the  real  fortress  you  have  not  yet  approached  ;  it 
is  situate  on  far  higher  ground."  Sense-knowledge  and  Opinion 
being  thus  set  aside,  the  stronghold  of  Philosophy  was  the  Ideal 
theory :  in  it  Plato  found  refuge  from  the  Sophists.  Aristotle 
came  and  destroyed  that  theory.  What  then  remained  ?  Skep 
ticism. 

Arcesilaus  admitted,  with  Plato,  the  uncertainty  of  Opinion ; 
but  he  also  admitted  with  Aristotle  the  incorrectness  of  the  Ideal 
theory.  He  was  thus  reduced  to  absolute  Skepticism.  The 
arguments  of  Plato  had  quite  destroyed  the  certitude  of  Opinion  ; 
the  arguments  of  Aristotle  had  quite  destroyed  the  Ideal  theory. 
And  thus,  by  refusing  to  accept  one  argument  of  the  Platonic 
doctrine,  Arcesilaus  could  from  Plato's  works  deduce  his  own 
theory  of  the  Incomprehensibility  of  all  things ;  the  acatalepsy. 

The  doctrine  of  acatalepsy  recalls  to  us  the  Stoical  doctrine  of 
catalepsy  or  Apprehension,  to  which  it  is  the  antithesis.  The 
Cataleptic  Phantasm  was  the  True  Perception,  according  to  the 
Stoics  ;  and,  according  to  the  Academicians,  all  Perceptions  were 
acataleptic,  i.e.  bore  no  conformity  to  the  objects  perceived;  or, 
if  they  did  bear  any  conformity  thereto,  it  could  never  be 
known. 

18* 


THE   NEW   ACADEMY. 

Arcesilaus  saw  the  weak  point  of  the  Stoical  argument.  Zeno 
pretended  that  there  was  a  Criterium,  which  decided  between 
science  and  opinion,  which  decided  between  true  and  false  per 
ceptions,  and  this  was  the  Assent  which  the  mind  gave  to  the 
truth  of  certain  perceptions  :  in  other  words,  Common-Sense  was 
the  Criterium.  "  But,"  said  Arcesilaus,  "  what  is  the  difference 
between  the  Assent  of  a  wise  man,  and  the  Assent  of  a  madman  ? 
— There  is  no  difference  but  in  name."  He  felt  that  the  criterium 
of  the  Stoics  was  itself  in  need  of  a  Criterium. 

Chrysippus  the  Stoic  combated  Arcesilaus,  and  was  in  turn 
combated  by  Carneades.  The  great  question  then  pending  was 
this  :— 

What  Criterium  is  there  of  the  truth  of  our  knowledge  ? 

The  Criterium  must  reside  either  in  Reason,  in  Conception,  or 
in  Sensation.  It  cannot  reside  in  Reason,  because  Reason  itself 
is  not  independent  of  the  other  two  :  it  operates  upon  the  mate 
rials  furnished  by  them,  and  is  dependent  upon  them.  Our 
knowledge  is  derived  from  the  senses,  and  every  object  presented 
to  the  mind  must  consequently  have  been  originally  presented 
to  the  senses :  on  their  accuracy  the  mind  must  depend. 

Reason  cannot  therefore  contain  within  itself  the  desired  Cri 
terium.  Nor  can  conception ;  for  the  same  arguments  apply  to 
it.  Nor  can  the  Criterium  reside  in  Sense ;  because,  as  all 
admit,  the  senses  are  deceptive,  and  there  is  no  perception  which 
cannot  be  false.  For  what  is  Perception  ?  Our  Senses  only 
inform  us  of  the  presence  of  an  object  in  so  far  as  they  are  affected 
by  it.  But  what  is  this  ?  Is  it  not  we  who  are  affected — we  who 
are  modified  ?  Yes ;  and  this  modification  reveals  both  itself 
and  the  object  which  causes  it.  Like  Light,  which  in  showing 
itself,  shows  also  the  objects  upon  which  it  is  thrown ;  like  light 
also,  it  shows  objects  in  its  own  colors.  Perception  is  a  peculiar 
modification  of  the  soul.  The  whole  problem  now  to  solve  is 
this  :— 

Does  every  modification  of  the  soul  exactly  correspond  with  the 
external  object  which  causes  that  modification? 


ARCESILAUS    AND   CARNEADES.  299 

This  is  a  problem  presented  by  the  Academicians.  They 
answered,  but  they  did  not  solve  it ;  they  left  to  their  adversaries 
the  task  of  proving  the  correspondence  between  the  object  and 
subject.  We  may  here  venture  to  carry  out  their  principles,  and 
endeavor  to  solve  the  problem,  as  it  is  one  still  agitating  the 
minds  of  metaphysicians. 

In  nowise  does  the  Sensation  correspond  with  the  object ;  in 
nowise  does  the  modification  correspond  with  the  external  cause, 
except  in  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect.  The  early  thinkers 
were  well  aware  that,  in  order  to  attribute  any  certainty  to  sen 
suous  knowledge,  we  must  assume  that  the  Senses  transmit  us 
Copies  of  things.  Democritus,  who  was  the  first  to  see  the 
necessity  of  such  an  hypothesis,  suggested  that  our  Ideas  were 
Eidola,  or  Images  of  the  Objects,  of  an  extremely  airy  texture, 
which  were  thrown  off  by  the  objects  in  the  shape  of  effluvia, 
and  entered  the  brain  by  the  pores.  Those  who  could  not  admit 
such  an  explanation  substituted  the  hypothesis  of  Impressions. 
Ask  any  man,  not  versed  in  such  inquiries,  whether  he  believes 
his  perceptions  to  be  copies  of  objects — whether  he  believes  that 
the  flower  he  sees  before  him  exists  quite  independently  of  him, 
and  of  every  other  human  being,  and  exists  with  the  same  attri 
butes  of  shape,  fragrance,  taste,  etc.,  his  answer  is  sure  to  be  in 
the  affirmative.  He  will  regard  you  as  a  madman  if  you  doubt 
it.  And  yet  so  early  as  the  epoch  of  which  we  are  now  sketch 
ing  the  history,  thinking  men  had  learned  in  somewise  to  see 
that  our  Perceptions  were  not  copies  of  Objects,  but  were  simply 
modifications  of  our  minds,  caused  by  the  objects.  Once  admit 
this,  and  sensuous  knowledge  is  forever  pronounced  not  only 
uncertain,  but  absolutely  false.  Can  such  a  modification  be  a 
copy  of  the  cause  which  modifies  ?  As  well  ask,  Is  the  pain, 
occasioned  by  a  burn,  a  copy  of  the  fire  ?  Is  it  at  all  like  the 
fire  ?  Does  it  at  all  express  the  essence  of  fire  ?  Not  in  the 
least.  It  only  expresses  one  relation  in  which  we  stand  to  the 
fire ;  one  effect  upon  us  which  fire  will  produce.  Nevertheless 
fire  is  an  Object,  and  a  burn  is  a  sensation.  The  way  in  which 


300  THE   NEW    ACADEMY. 

we  perceive  the  existence  of  the  Object  (fire)  is  similar  to  that 
in  which  we  perceive  the  existence  of  other  objects :  and  that 
way  is  in  the  modifications  they  occasion  ;  i.  e.  in  the  Sen 
sations. 

Let  us  take  another  instance.  We  say  that  we  hear  Thunder  : 
in  other  words,  we  have  a  Perception  of  the  Object  called  Thun 
der.  Our  sensation  really  is  of  a  sound,  which  the  electrical 
phenomena  we  call  Thunder  have  caused  in  us,  by  acting  on  the 
aural  nerve.  Is  our  sensation  of  this  sound  any  copy  of  the 
Phenomena?  Does  it  in  any  degree  express  the  nature  of  the 
Phenomena?  No;  it  only  expresses  the  sensation  we  receive 
from  a  certain  electrical  state  of  the  atmosphere. 

In  these  cases  most  people  will  readily  acquiesce ;  for,  by  a 
very  natural  confusion  of  ideas,  whenever  they  speak  of  percep 
tions,  they  mostly  mean  visual  perceptions ;  because  with  sight 
the  clearest  knowledge  is  associated  ;  because  also  the  hypothesis 
of  our  perceptions  being  copies  of  Things,  is  founded  upon  sight. 
The  same  persons  who  would  willingly  admit  that  Pain  was  not 
a  copy  of  the  Fire,  nor  of  any  thing  in  the  nature  of  Fire,  except 
in  its  effect  on  our  nerves,  would  protest  that  the  appearance  of 
Fire  to  the  Eye  was  the  real  appearance  of  the  Fire,  all  Eyes 
apart,  and  quite  independent  of  human  vision.  Yet  if  all  sentient 
beings  were  at  once  swept  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  the  fire 
would  have  no  attribute  at  all  resembling  Pain  ;  because  Pain  is 
a  modification,  not  of  Fire,  but  of  a  sentient  being.  In  like 
manner,  if  all  sentient  beings  were  at  once  swept  from  the  face  of 
the  earth,  the  Fire  would  have  no  attributes  at  all  resembling 
light  and  color  ;  because  light  and  color  are  modifications  of  the 
sentient  being,  caused  by  something  external,  but  no  more  resem 
bling  its  cause  than  the  pain  inflicted  by  an  instrument  resembles 
that  instrument. 

Pain  and  color  are  modifications  of  the  sentient  being.  The 
question  at  issue  is,  Can  a  modification  of  a  sentient  being  be  a 
copy  of  its  cause  ?  The  answer  is  clearly  a  negative.  We  may 
imagine  that  when  we  see  an  Object,  our  sensation  is  a  copy  of 


ARCESILAUS    AND    CARNEADES.  301 

it;  because  we  believe  that  the  Object  paints  itself  upon  the 
retina ;  and  we  liken  perception  to  a  mirror,  in  which  things  are 
reflected.  It  is  extremely  difficult  to  divest  ourselves  of  this 
prejudice  ;  but  we  may  be  made  aware  of  the  fallacy  if  we  attend 
to  those  perceptions  which  are  not  visual — to  the  perceptions  of 
sound,  fragrance,  taste,  or  paiu.  These  are  clearly  nothing  but 
modifications  of  our  sentient  being,  caused  by  external  objects, 
but  in  nowise  resembling  them.  We  are  all  agreed  that  the  heat 
is  not  in  the  fire,  but  in  us ;  that  sweetness  is  not  in  the  sugar, 
but  in  us ;  that  fragrance  is  but  the  particles  which,  impinging 
on  the  olfactory  nerve,  cause  a  sensation  in  us.  In  all  beings 
similarly  constituted  these  things  would  have  similar  effects, 
would  cause  pain,  sweetness,  and  fragrance ;  but  on  all  other 
beings  the  effects  would  be  different.  Fire  would  burn  paper, 
but  not  pain  it ;  sugar  would  mix  with  water,  but  not  give  it  the 
sensation  of  sweetness. 

The  radical  error  of  those  who  believe  that  we  perceive  things 
a*  they  are,  consists  in  mistaking  a  metaphor  for  a  fact,  and 
believing  that  the  mind  is  a  mirror  in  which  external  objects  are 
reflected.  But,  as  Bacon  finely  says,  "  The  human  understand 
ing  is  like  an  unequal  mirror  to  the  rays  of  things,  which,  mixing 
its  own  nature  with  the  nature  of  things,  distorts  and  perverts 
them?  We  attribute  heat  to  the  fire,  and  color  to  the  flower ; 
heat  and  color  really  being  states  of  our  consciousness,  occasioned 
by  the  fire  and  the  flower  under  certain  conditions. 

Perception  is  nothing  more  than  a  state  of  the  percipient ;  i.  e. 
a  state  of  consciousness.  This  state  may  be  occasioned  by  some 
external  cause,  and  may  be  as  complex  as  the  cause  is  complex, 
but  it  is  still  nothing  more  than  a  state  of  consciousness — an 
effect  produced  by  an  adequate  cause.  Of  every  change  in  our 
Sensation  we  are  conscious,  and  in  time  we  learn  to  give  definite 
names  and  forms  to  the  causes  of  these  changes.  But  in  the  fact 
of  Consciousness  there  is  nothing  beyond  consciousness.  In  our 
perceptions  we  are  conscious  only  of  the  changes  which  have 
taken  place  within  us  :  we  can  never  transcend  the  sphere  of  our 


302  THE   NEW    ACADEMY. 

own  consciousness ;  we  can  never  go  out  of  ourselves,  and  become 
aware  of  the  objects  which  caused  those  changes.  All  we  can  do 
is  to  identify  certain  external  appearances  with  certain  internal 
changes,  e.  g.  to  identify  the  appearance  we  name  "  fire,"  with 
certain  sensations  we  have  known  to  follow  our  being  placed  near 
it.  Turn  the  fact  of  Consciousness  how  we  will,  we  can  see 
nothing  in  it  but  the  change  of  a  sentient  being  operated  by 
some  external  cause.  Consciousness  is  no  mirror  of  the  world ; 
it  gives  no  faithful  reflection  of  things  as  they  are  per  se  ;  it  only 
gives  a  faithful  report  of  its  own  modification  as  excited  by  exter 
nal  things. 

The  world,  apart  from  our  consciousness,  i.  e.  the  non-ego  qua 
non-ego — the  world  per  se — is,  in  all  likelihood,  something  utterly 
different  from  the  world  as  we  know  it ;  for  all  we  know  of  it  is 
derived  through  our  consciousness  of  what  its  effects  are  on  us, 
and  our  consciousness  is  obviously  only  a  state  of  ourselves,  not 
a  copy  of  external  things. 

It  may  be  here  asked,  How  do  you  infer  that  the  world  is  dif 
ferent  from  what  it  appears  to  us  1 

The  question  is  pertinent,  and  may  be  answered  briefly.  The 
world  per  se  must  be  different  from  what  it  appears  to  us  through 
consciousness,  because  to  us  it  is  only  known  in  the  relation  of 
cause  and  effect.  World  is  the  Cause ;  our  Consciousness  the 
Effect.  But  the  same  Cause  operating  on  some  other  organization 
would  produce  a  very  different  effect.  If  all  animals  were  blind, 
there  would  be  no  such  thing  as  light  (i.  e.  light  as  we  know  it), 
because  light  is  a  phenomenon  made  up  out  of  the  operation  of 
some  unknown  thing  on  the  retina.  If  all  animals  were  deaf, 
there  would  be  no  such  thing  as  sound,  because  sound  is  a  phe 
nomenon  made  up  out  of  the  operation  of  some  unknown  thing 
on  the  tympanum.  If  all  men  were  without  their  present  ner 
vous  system,  there  would  be  no  such  thing  as  pain,  because  pain 
is  a  phenomenon  made  up  out  of  the  operation  of  some  external 
thing  on  the  specialized  nervous  system. 

Light,  color,  sound,  taste,  smell,  are  all  states  of  Conscious- 


AECESILAUS   AND    CARNEADES.  303 

ness ;  what  they  are  beyond  Consciousness,  as  existences  per  se, 
we  cannot  know,  we  cannot  imagine,  because  we  can  only  con 
ceive  them  as  we  know  them.  Light,  with  its  myriad  forms  and 
colors — Sound,  with  its  thousand-fold  life — make  Nature  what 
Nature  appears  to  us.  But  they  do  not  exist  as  such  apart  from 
our  consciousness;  they  are  the  investitures  with  which  we 
clothe  the  world.  Nature  in  her  insentient  solitude  is  an  eternal 
Darkness — an  eternal  Silence. 

We  conclude,  therefore,  that  the  world  per  se  in  nowise  re 
sembles  the  World  as  it  appears  to  us.  Perception  is  an  Effect ; 
and  its  truth  is  not  the  truth  of  resemblance,  but  of  relation,  i.  e. 
it  is  the  true  operation  of  the  world  on  us,  the  true  operation  of 
Cause  and  Effect.  But  perception  is  not  the  true  resemblance 
of  the  world:  Consciousness  is  no  mirror  reflecting  external 
things. 

Let  us  substitute  for  the  metaphor  of  a  mirror  the  more  ab 
stract  expression,  "  Perception  is  the  Effect  of  an  external  Object 
acting  on  a  sentient  being,"  and  much  of  the  confusion  darkening 
this  matter  will  be  dissipated.  An  Effect,  we  know,  agrees  with 
its  Cause,  but  it  does  not  necessarily  resemble  it.  An  Effect  is  no 
more  a  Copy  of  the  Cause  than  pain  is  a  copy  of  the  application 
of  fire  to  a  finger :  ergo,  Perception  can  never  be  an  accurate 
report  of  what  things  are  per  se,  but  only  of  what  they  are  in 
relation  to  us. 

It  has  been  said  that,  although  no  single  sense  does  actually 
convey  to  us  a  correct  impression  of  any  thing,  nevertheless  we 
are  enabled  to  confirm  or  modify  the  report  of  one  sense  by  the 
report  of  another  sense,  and  that  the  result  of  the  whole  activity 
of  the  five  senses  is  a  true  impression  of  the  external  Thing.  This 
is  a  curious  fallacy  :  it  pretends  that  a  number  of  false  impres 
sions  are  sufficient  to  constitute  a  true  one ! 

The  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  the  foregoing  premises  is 
this :  There  is  no  correspondence  between  the  object  and  the 
sensation,  except  that  of  Cause  and  Effect.  Sensations  are  not 
Copies  of  Objects;  do  not  at  all  resemble  them.  As  we  can 


304:  THE    NEW    ACADEMY. 

only  know  objects  through  sensation — i.  e.  as  we  can  only  know 
our  sensations — we  can  never  ascertain  the  truth  respecting 
objects. 

This  brings  us  back  to  the  New  Academy,  the  disciples  of 
which  strenuously  maintained  that  Perception,  being  nothing  but 
a  modification  of  the  Soul,  could  never  reveal  the  real  nature  of 
things. 

Do  we  then  side  with  the  Academicians  in  proclaiming  all 
human  knowledge  deceptive  ?  No :  to  them,  as  to  the  Pyr- 
rhonists,  we  answer :  You  are  quite  right  in  affirming  that  man 
cannot  transcend  the  sphere  of  his  own  consciousness,  cannot 
penetrate  the  real  essences  of  things,  cannot  know  causes,  can 
only  know  phenomena.  But  this  affirmation — though  it  crushes 
Metaphysics — though  it  interdicts  the  inquiry  into  noumena,  into 
essences  and  causes,  as  frivolous  because  futile — does  not  touch 
Science.  If  all  our  knowledge  is  but  a  knowledge  of  phenomena, 
there  can  still  be  a  Science  of  Phenomena  adequate  to  all  man's 
true  wants.  If  Sensation  is  but  the  effect  of  an  External  Cause, 
we,  who  can  never  know  that  Cause,  know  it  in  its  relation  to  us, 
i.  e.  in  its  Effect.  These  Effects  are  as  constant  as  their  Causes ; 
and,  consequently,  there  can  be  a  Science  of  Effects.  Such  a 
Science  is  that  named  Positive  Science,  the  aim  of  which  is  to 
trace  the  Co-existences  and  Successions  of  Phenomena,  i.  e.  to 
trace  the  relation  of  Cause  and  Effect  throughout  the  universe 
submitted  to  our  inspection. 

But  neither  the  Pyrrhonists  nor  the  Academicians  saw  this 
refuge  for  the  mind ;  they  consequently  proclaimed  Skepticism 
as  the  final  result  of  inquiry. 


CHAPTER  V. 
SUMMARY  OF  THE  EIGHTH  EPOCH. 

WE  have  now  brought  our  narrative  to  the  second  crisis  in  the 
history  of  speculation.  The  Skepticism  which  made  the  Sophists 
powerful,  and  which  closed  the  first  period  of  this  history,  we 
now  behold  once  more  usurping  the  intellects  of  men,  and  this 
time  with  far  greater  power.  A  Socrates  appeared  to  refute  the 
Sophists.  Who  is  there  to  refute  and  to  discredit  the  Skeptics? 

The  Skeptics,  and  all  thinkers  during  the  epoch  we  have  just 
treated  were  such,  whether  they  called  themselves  Epicureans, 
Stoics,  Pyrrhonists,  or  New  Academicians — the  Skeptics,  we  say, 
were  in  possession  of  the  most  formidable  arms.  From  Socrates, 
from  Plato,  and  from  Aristotle,  they  had  borrowed  their  best 
weapons,  and  with  these  had  attacked  Philosophy,  and  attacked 
it  with  success. 

All  the  wisdom  of  the  antique  world  was  powerless  against  the 
Skeptics.  Speculative  belief  was  reduced  to  the  most  uncertain 
"  probability."  Faith  in  philosophic  Truth  was  extinct.  Faith 
in  human  endeavor  that  way  was  gone.  Philosophy  was  im 
possible. 

But  there  was  one  peculiarity  of  the  Socratic  doctrine  which 
was  preserved  even  in  the  midst  of  skepticism.  Socrates  had 
made  Ethics  the  great  object  of  his  inquiries  :  and  all  subsequent 
thinkers  had  given  it  a  degree  of  attention  which  before  was 
unknown.  Philosophy  contented  itself  with  the  Common-Sense 
doctrine  of  the  Stoics,  and  the  Probabilities  of  the  Skeptics, 
which,  however  futile  as  philosophic  principles,  were  efficacious 
enough  as  moral  principles.  Common-Sense  may  be  a  bad  basis 


306  SUMMARY    OF   THE    EIGHTH    EPOCH. 

for  metaphysical  or  scientific  reasoning ;  but  it  is  not  so  bad  a 
basis  for  a  system  of  morals. 

The  protest,  therefore,  which  Skepticism  made  against  all 
Philosophy  was  not  so  anarchical  in  its  tendency  as  the  protest 
made  by  the  Sophists ;  but  it  was  more  energetic,  more  terrible. 
In  the  wisdom  of  that  age  there  lay  no  cure  for  it.  The  last  cry 
of  despair  seemed  to  have  been  wrung  from  the  baffled  thinkers, 
as  they  declared  their  predecessors  to  have  been  hopelessly 
wrong,  and  declared  also  that  their  error  was  without  a  remedy. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  saddening  contemplation.  The  hopes  and 
aspirations  of  so  many  incomparable  minds  thus  irrevocably 
doomed  ;  the  struggles  of  so  many  men,  from  Thales,  who  first 
asked  himself,  Whence  do  all  things  proceed  ?  to  the  elaborate 
systematization  of  the  forms  of  thought  which  occupied  an 
Aristotle — the  struggles  of  all  these  men  had  ended  in  Skepti 
cism.  Little  was  to  be  gleaned  from  the  harvest  of  their  en 
deavors  but  arguments  against  the  possibility  of  that  Philosophy 
they  were  so  anxious  to  form.  Centuries  of  thought  had  not 
advanced  the  mind  one  step  nearer  to  a  solution  of  the  problems 
with  which,  child-like,  it  began.  It  began  with  a  child-like 
question  ;  it  ended  with  an  aged  doubt.  Not  only  did  it  doubt 
the  solutions  of  the  great  problem  which  others  had  attempted  ; 
it  even  doubted  the  possibility  of  any  solution.  It  was  not  the 
doubt  which  begins,  but  the  doubt  which  ends  inquiry  :  it  had 
no  illusions. 

This  was  the  second  crisis  of  Greek  Philosophy.  Reason  thus 
assailed  could  only  find  a  refuge  in  Faith ;  and  the  next  period 
opens  with  the  attempt  to  construct  a  Religious  Philosophy. 


NINTH  EPOCH. 


PHILOSOPHY  ALLIES  ITSELF  WITH  FAITH  :   THE  ALEXAN 
DRIAN  SCHOOLS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
EISE   OF  NEO-PLATONISM. 

§  I.  ALEXANDRIA. 

PHILOSOPHY  no  longer  found  a  home  in  Greece ;  it  had  no 
longer  any  worshippers  in  its  native  country,  and  was  forced  to 
seek  them  elsewhere.  A  period  had  arrived  when  all  problems 
seemed  to  have  been  stated,  and  none  seemed  likely  to  be  solved. 
Every  system  which  human  ingenuity  could  devise  had  been 
devised  by  the  early  thinkers ;  and  not  one  had  been  able  to 
withstand  examination.  In  the  early  annals  of  speculation,  a 
new  and  decisive  advance  is  made  whenever  a  new  question  is 
asked ;  to  suggest  a  doubt,  is  to  exercise  ingenuity ;  to  ask  a 
question,  is  to  awaken  men  to  a  new  view  of  the  subject.  But 
now  all  questions  had  been  asked ;  old  questions  had  been  re 
vived  under  new  forms  ;  nothing  remained  to  stimulate  inquiry, 
nothing  to  give  speculators  a  hope  of  success. 

Unable  to  ask  new  questions,  or  to  offer  new  answers  to  those 
already  asked,  the  Philosophers  readily  seized  on  the  only  means 
which  enabled  them  to  gain  renown  :  they  travelled.  They 
carried  their  doctrines  into  Egypt  and  to  Rome ;  and  in  those 
places  they  were  listened  to  with  wonder  and  delight.  Their 
old  doctrines  were  novelties  to  a  people  who  had  no  doctrines  of 


308  RISE   OF   NEO-PLATONISM. 

its  own ;  and,  from  the  excessive  cost  of  books  in  those  days, 
almost  all  instruction  being  oral,  the  strangers  were  welcomed 
warmly,  and  the  doctrines  imported  were  as  novel  as  if  they  had 
been  just  invented. 

Philosophy,  exiled  from  Greece,  was  a  favored  guest  in  Alex 
andria  and  Rome  :  but  in  both  cases  it  was  a  stranger,  and  could 
not  be  naturalized.  In  Alexandria,  however,  it  made  a  brilliant 
display;  and  the  men  it  produced  gave  it  an  originality  and  an 
influence  which  it  never  possessed  in  Rome. 

Roman  Philosophy  was  but  a  weak  paraphrase  of  the  Grecian  ; 
and  we,  therefore,  give  it  no  place  in  this  history.  To  speak 
Greek,  to  write  Greek,  became  the  fashionable  ambition  of  Rome. 
The  child  was  instructed  by  a  Greek  slave.  Greek  Professors 
taught  Philosophy  and  Rhetoric  to  aspiring  youths.  Athens 
had  become  the  necessary  "  tour"  which  was  to  complete  a 
man's  education.  It  was  there  that  Cicero  learned  those  ideas 
which  he  delighted  in  setting  forth  in  charming  dialogues.  It 
was  there  Horace  learned  that  light  and  careless  philosophy, 
which  shines  through  the  sparkling  crystal  of  his  verse.  Wan 
dering  from  the  Academy  to  the  Porch,  and  from  the  Porch  to 
the  Garden,  he  became  imbued  with  that  skepticism  which 
checks  his  poetical  enthusiasm ;  he  learned  to  make  a  system  of 
that  pensive  epicureanism  which  gives  so  peculiar  a  character  to 
his  poems ;  a  character  which,  with  a  sort  of  after-dinner  free 
dom  and  bonhomie,  recommend^  him  to  men  of  the  world. 

In  Rome,  Philosophy  might  tinge  the  poetry,  give  weight  to  ora 
tory,  method  to  jurisprudence,  and  supply  some  topics  of  conversa 
tion  ;  but  it  was  no  Belief  filling  the  minds  of  serious  men  :  it  took 
no  root  in  the  national  existence ;  it  produced  no  great  Thinkers. 

In  Alexandria  the  case  was  different.  There  several  schools 
were  formed,  and  some  new  elements  introduced  into  the  doc 
trines  then  existent.  Great  thinkers — Plotinus,  Proclus,  Por 
phyry — made  it  illustrious ;  and  it  had  a  rival,  whose  antagonism 
alone  would  confer  immortal  renown  upon  it :  that  rival  was 
Christianity. 


ALEXANDRIA.  309 

In  no  species  of  grandeur  was  the  Alexandrian  school  deficient, 
as  M.  Saisset  justly  observes  :*  genius,  power,  and  duration,  have 
consecrated  it.  Reanimating,  during  an  epoch  of  decline,  the 
fecundity  of  an  aged  civilization,  it  created  a  whole  family  of 
illustrious  names.  Plotinus,  its  real  founder,  resuscitated  Plato; 
Proclus  gave  the  world  another  Aristotle ;  and,  in  the  person  of 
Julian  the  Apostate,  it  became  master  of  the  world.  For  three 
centuries  it  was  a  formidable  rival  to  the  greatest  power  that 
ever  appeared  on  earth — the  power  of  Christianity ;  and,  if  it 
succumbed  in  the  struggle,  it  only  fell  with  the  civilization  of 
which  it  had  been  the  last  rampart. 

Alexandria,  the  centre  of  gigantic  commerce,  soon  became  a 
new  metropolis  of  science,  rivalling  Athens.  The-  Alexandrian 
Library  is  too  celebrated  to  need  more  than  a  passing  allusion : 
to  it,  and  to  the  men  assembled  there,  we  owe  the  vast  labors  of 
erudition  in  philosophy  and  literature  which  were  of  such  service 
to  the  world.  We  cannot  here  enumerate  all  the  men  of  science 
who  made  it  illustrious ;  enough  if  we  mention  Euclid,  for  Math 
ematics  ;  Conon  and  Hipparchus,  for  Astronomy ;  Eratosthenes, 
for  Geography ;  and  Aristarchus,  for  literary  Criticism.  Besides 
these,  there  were  the  Philosophers ;  and  Lucian,  the  witty  Skep 
tic  ;  and  the  Poets,  Apollonius  Rhodius,  Callimachus,  Lycophron, 
Tryphiodorus,  and,  above  all,  the  sweet  idyllic  Theocritus. 

It  is  a  curious  spectacle.  Beside  the  Museum  of  Alexandria 
there  rises  into  formidable  importance  the  Didascalia  of  the 
Christians.  In  the  same  city,  Philo  the  Jew,  and  QEnesidemus 
the  Pyrrhonist,  founded  their  respective  schools.  Ammonias 
Saccas  appears  there.  Lucian  passes  through  at  the  same  time 
that  Clemens  Alexandrinus  is  teaching.  After  Plotinus  has 
taught,  Arius  and  Athanasius  will  also  teach.  Greek  Skepti 
cism,  Judaism,  Platonism,  Christianity — all  have  their  interpreters 
within  so  small  a  distance  from  the  temple  of  Serapis ! 


*  Revue  des  Deux  Mbndes,  1844,  tome  iii.  p.  783 ;  un  admirable  article  on 
the  Alexandrian  Schools. 


310  RISE    OF    NEOPLATONISM. 

§  II.   PHILO. 

Alexandria,  as  we  have  seen,  was  the  theatre  of  various  strug 
gles  :  of  these  we  are  to  select  one,  and  that  one  the  struggle  of 
the  Neo-Platonists  with  the  Christian  Fathers. 

Under  the  name  of  the  Alexandrian  School  are  designated, 
loosely  enough,  all  those  thinkers  who  endeavored  to  find  a  refuge 
from  Skepticism  iu  a  new  Philosophy,  based  on  altogether  new 
principles.  Now,  although  these  various  Thinkers  by  no  means 
constitute  a  School,  they  constitute  a  Movement,  and  they  form 
an  Epoch  in  the  history  of  Philosophy.  We  may  merely  ob 
serve  that  the  "  Alexandrian  School"  and  the  "  Neo-Platonists" 
are  not  convertible  terms :  the  former  designates  a  whole  move 
ment,  the  latter  designates  the  most  illustrious  section  of  that 
movement. 

Philo  the  Jew  is  the  first  of  these  Neo-Platonists.  He  was 
born  at  Alexandria,  a  few  years  before  Christ.  The  influence  of 
Greek  ideas  had  long  been  felt  in  Alexandria,  and  Philo,  com 
menting  on  the  writings  of  the  Jews,  did  so  in  the  spirit  of  one 
deeply  imbued  with  Greek  thought.  His  genius  was  Oriental, 
his  education  Greek ;  the  result  was  a  strange  mixture  of  mys 
ticism  and  dialectics.*  To  Plato  he  owed  much :  but  to  the 
New  Academy,  perhaps  more.  From  Carneades  he  learned  to 
distrust  the  truth  of  all  sensuous  knowledge,  and  to  deny  that 
Reason  had  any  criterium  of  truth. 

Thus  far  he  was  willing  to  travel  with  the  Greeks ;  thus  far 
had  dialectics  conducted  him.  But  there  was  another  element 
in  his  mind  besides  the  Greek :  there  was  the  Oriental  or  mys 
tical  element.  If  human  knowledge  is  a  delusion,  we  must  seek 
for  truth  in  some  higher  sphere.  The  Senses  may  deceive ; 
Reason  may  be  powerless  ;  but  there  is  still  a  faculty  in  man — 


*  St.  Paul  thus  comprehensively  expresses  the  national  characteristic  of 
the  Jews  and  Greeks:  "The  Jews  require  a  sign  (i  e.  a  miracle),  and  the 
Greeks  seek  after  wisdom  (i.  e.  philosophy)."—!  Corinth,  i.  22. 


PHILO.  311 

there  is  Faith.     Real  Science  is  the  gift  of  God :  its  name  is 
Faith :  its  origin  is  the  goodness  of  God  :  its  cause  is  Piety. 

This  conception  is  not  Plato's,  yet  is  nevertheless  Platonic. 
Plato  would  never  have  thus  condemned  Reason  for  the  sake  of 
Faith ;  and  yet  he,  too,  thought  that  the  nature  of  God  could 
not  be  known,  although  his  existence  could  be  proved.  In  this 
respect  he  would  have  agreed  with  Philo.  But,  although  Plato 
does  not  speak  of  Science  as  the  gift  of  God,  he  does  in  one 
place  so  speak  of  Virtue ;  and  he  devotes  the  whole  dialogue  of 
the  Meno  to  show  that  Virtue  cannot  be  taught,  because  it  is  not 
a  thing  of  the  understanding,  but  a  gift  of  God.  The  reasons 
he  there  employs  may  easily  have  suggested  to  Philo  their  ap 
plication  to  Philosophy. 

From  this  point  Philo's  Philosophy  of  course  becomes  a  the 
ology.  God  is  ineffable,  incomprehensible  :  his  existence  may  be 
known ;  his  nature  can  never  be  known  ;  6  <$'  ctpa  w$s  <rw  vw 
xaraX'xj'Tr'roj,  OTJ  /JL^  xa-ra  <ro  £/vai  /xo'vov.  But  to  know  that  he 
exists,  is  in  itself  the  knowledge  of  his  being  one,  perfect,  simple, 
immutable,  and  without  attribute.  This  knowledge  is  implied  in 
the  simple  knowledge  of  his  existence :  he  cannot  be  otherwise, 
if  he  exist  at  all.  But  to  know  this,  is  not  to  know  in  what 
consists  his  perfection.  We  cannot  penetrate  with  our  glance 
the  mystery  of  his  essence.  We  can  only  believe. 

If  however  we  cannot  know  God  in  his  essence,  we  can  obtain 
some  knowledge  of  his  Divinity :  we  know  it  in  The  Word. 
This  \dyos — this  Word  (using  the  expression  in  its  Scriptural 
sense) — fills  a  curious  place  in  all  the  mystical  systems.  God 
being  incomprehensible,  inaccessible,  an  intermediate  existence 
was  necessary  as  an  interpreter  between  God  and  Man,  and  this 
intermediate  existence  the  Mystics  called  The  Word. 

The  Word,  according  to  Philo,  is  God's  Thought.  This 
Thought  is  two-fold  :  it  is  Xo^-os  £v8ia.6erogj  the  Thought  as  em 
bracing  all  Ideas  (in  the  Platonic  sense  of  the  term  Idea),  i.  e 
Thought  as  Thought ;  and  it  is  Xoyoj  tfpopopixoV,  the  Thought  re 
alized,:  Thought  become  the  World. 


312  RISE    OF    NEO  PLATONISM. 

In  these  three  hypostases  of  the  Deity  we  see  the  Trinity  of 
Plotinus  foreshadowed.  There  is,  first,  God  the  Father ;  secondly, 
the  Son  of  God,  i.  e.  the  Xo'/oj ;  thirdly,  the  Son  of  the  Xo'yos, 
i.  e.  the  World. 

This  brief  outline  of  Philo's  Theology  will  sufficiently  ex 
emplify  the  two  great  facts  which  we  are  anxious  to  have  under 
stood  : — 1st,  the  union  of  Platonism  with  Oriental  mysticism ; 
2dly,  the  entirely  new  direction  given  to  Philosophy,  by  uniting 
it  once  more  with  Religion.  It  is  this  direction  which  character 
izes  the  Movement  of  the  Alexandrian  School.  Reason  had 
been  shown  to  be  utterly  powerless  to  solve  the  great  questions 
of  Philosophy  then  agitated.  Various  Schools  had  pursued 
various  Methods,  but  all  with  one  result.  Skepticism  was  the 
conclusion  of  every  struggle.  "And  yet,"  said  the  Mystics, 
"we  have  an  idea  of  God  and  of  his  goodness;  we  have  an  in 
eradicable  belief  in  his  existence,  and  in  the  Perfection  of  his 
nature,  consequently,  in  the  beneficence  of  his  aims.  Yet  these 
ideas  are  not  innate ;  were  they  innate,  they  would  be  uniformly 
entertained  by  all  men,  and  amongst  all  nations.  If  they  are 
not  innate,  whence  are  they  derived  ?  Not  from  Reason  ;  not 
from  experience  :  then  from  Faith." 

Now,  Philosophy,  conceive  it  how  you  will,  is  entirely  the  off 
spring  of  Reason :  it  is  the  endeavor  to  explain  by  Reason  the 
mysteries  amidst  which  we  "  move,  live,  and  have  our  being." 
Although  it  is  legitimate  to  say,  "  Reason  is  incapable  of  solv 
ing  the  problems  proposed  to  it,"  it  is  not  legitimate  to  add, 
"  therefore  we  must  call  in  the  aid  of  Faith."  In  Philosophy, 
Reason  must  either  reign  alone,  or  abdicate.  No  compromise 
is  permissible.  If  there  are  things  between  heaven  and  earth 
which  are  not  dreamt  of  in  our  Philosophy — which  do  not 
come  within  the  possible  sphere  of  our  Philosophy — we  may 
believe  in  them,  indeed,  but  we  cannot  christen  that  belief 
philosophical. 

One  of  two  things, — either  Reason  is  capable  of  solving  the 
problems,  or  it  is  incapable  :  in  the  one  case  its  attempt  is  phi- 


PIIILO.  313 

losophical ;  in  the  second  case  its  attempt  is  futile.  Any  attempt 
to  mix  up  Faith  with  Reason,  in  a  matter  exclusively  addressed 
to  the  Reason,  must  be  abortive.  We  do  not  say  that  what  Faith 
implicitly  accepts,  Reason  may  not  explicitly  justify ;  but  we  say, 
that  to  bring  Faith  to  the  aid  of  Reason,  is  altogether  to  destroy 
the  philosophical  character  of  an  inquiry.  Reason  may  justify 
Faith ;  but  faith  must  not  furnish  conclusions  for  Philosophy. 
Directly  Reason  is  abandoned,  Philosophy  ceases ;  and  every  ex 
planation  then  offered  is  a  theological  explanation,  and  must  be 
put  to  altogether  different  tests  from  what  a  philosophical  ex 
planation  would  require. 

All  speculation  must  originally  have  been  theological :  but  in 
process  of  time  Reason  timidly  ventured  upon  what  are  called 
"  natural  explanations ;"  and  from  the  moment  that  it  felt  itself 
strong  enough  to  be  independent,  Philosophy  was  established. 
In  the  early  speculations  of  the  lonians  we  saw  the  pure  efforts 
of  Reason  to  explain  mysteries.  As  Philosophy  advanced,  it 
became  more  and  more  evident  that  the  problems  attacked  by 
the  early  thinkers  were,  in  truth,  so  far  from  being  nearer  a 
solution,  that  their  extreme  difficulty  was  only  just  becoming 
appreciated.  The  difficulty  became  more  and  more  apparent, 
till  at  last  it  was  pronounced  insuperable :  Reason  was  declared 
incompetent.  Then  the  Faith  which  had  so  long  been  set  aside 
was  again  called  to  assist  the  inquirer.  In  other  words,  Philos 
ophy,  discovering  itself  to  be  powerless,  resigned  in  favor  of 
Theology. 

When,  therefore,  we  say  that  the  direction  given  to  the  human 
mind  by  the  Alexandrian  School,  in  conjunction  with  Christian 
ity — the  only  two  spiritual  movements  which  materially  influ 
enced  the  epoch  we  are  speaking  of — was  a  theological  direction, 
the  reader  will  at  once  see  its  immense  importance,  and  will  be 
prepared  to  follow  us  in  our  exposition  of  the  mystical  doctrines 
of  Plotinus. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ANTAGONISM   OF  CHKISTIANITY  AND  NEO- 
PLATONISM. 

§  I.  PLOTINUS. 

WHILE  Christianity  was  making  rapid  and  enduring  progress 
in  spite  of  every  obstacle  ;  while  the  Apostles  wandered  from 
city  to  city,  sometimes  honored  as  Evangelists,  at  other  times 
insulted  and  stoned  as  enemies,  the  Neo-Platonists  were  develop 
ing  the  germ  deposited  by  Philo,  and  not  only  constructing  a 
theology,  but  endeavoring  on  that  theology  to  found  a  Church. 
Whilst  a  new  religion,  Christianity,  was  daily  usurping  the  souls 
of  men,  these  philosophers  fondly  imagined  that  an  old  Religion 
could  effectually  oppose  it. 

Christianity  triumphed  without  much  difficulty.  Looking  at 
it  in  a  purely  moral  view,  its  immense  superiority  is  at  once 
apparent.  The  Alexandrians  exaggerated  the  vicious  tendency 
of  which  \ve  have  already  seen  the  fruits  in  the  Cynics  and 
Stoics — the  tendency  to  despise  Humanity.  Plotinus  blushed 
because  he  had  a  body :  contempt  of  human  personality  could 
go  no  further.  What  was  offered  in  exchange  ?  The  ecstatic 
perception ;  the  absorption  of  personality  in  that  of  the  Deity — 
a  Deity  inaccessible  to  knowledge  as  to  love — a  Deity  which  the 
soul  can  only  attain  by  a  complete  annihilation  of  its  personality. 

The  attempt  of  the  Neo-Platonists  failed,  as  it  deserved  to  fail ; 
but  it  had  great  talents  in  its  service,  and  it  made  great  noise  in 
the  world.  It  had,  as  M.  Saisset  remarks,  three  periods.  The 
first  of  these,  the  least  brilliant  but  the  most  fruitful,  is  that  of 
Ammonias  Saccas  and  Plotinus.  A  porter  of  Alexandria  becomes 


PLOTINUS.  315 

the  chief  of  a  School,  and  men  of  genius  listen  to  him ;  amongst 
his  disciples  are  Plotinus,  Origen,  and  Longinus.  This  School  is 
perfected  in  obscurity,  and  receives  at  last  a  solid  basis  by  the 
development  of  a  metaphysical  system.  Plotinus,  the  author  of 
this  system,  shortly  after  lectures  at  Rome  with  amazing  success. 
It  is  then  that  the  Alexandrian  School  enters  upon  its  second 
period.  With  Porphyry  and  lamblicus  it  becomes  a  sort  of 
Church,  and  disputes  with  Christianity  the  empire  of  the  world. 
Christianity  had  ascended  the  throne  in  the  person  of  Constan- 
tine ;  Neo-Platonism  dethrones  it,  and  usurps  its  place  in  the 
person  of  Julian  the  Apostate.  But  now  mark  the  difference. 
In  losing  Constantine,  Christianity  lost  nothing  of  its  real  power ; 
for  its  power  lay  in  the  might  of  convictions,  and  not  in  the  sup 
port  of  potentates ;  its  power  was  a  spiritual  power,  ever  active, 
ever  fruitful.  In  losing  Julian,  Neo-Platonism  lost  its  power, 
political  and  religious.  The  third  period  commences  with  that 
loss  :  and  the  genius  of  Proclus  bestows  on  it  one  last  gleam  of 
splendor.  In  vain  did  he  strive  to  revive  the  scientific  spirit  of 
Platonism,  as  Plotinus  had  endeavored  to  revive  the  religious 
spirit  of  Paganism  :  his  efforts  were  vigorous,  but  sterile.  Under 
Justinian  the  School  of  Alexandria  became  extinct. 

Such  is  the  outward  history  of  the  School :  let  us  now  cast  a 
glance  at  the  doctrines  which  were  there  elaborated.  In  the 
writings  of  thinkers  professedly  eclectic,  such  as  were  the  Alex 
andrians,  it  is  obvious  that  the  greater  portion  will  be  repetitions 
and  reproductions  of  former  thinkers ;  and  the  historian  will 
therefore  neglect  such  opinions  to  confine  himself  to  those  which 
constitute  the  originality  of  the  School.  The  originality  of  the 
Alexandrians  consists  in  having  employed  the  Platonic  Dialectics 
as  a  guide  to  Mysticism  and  Pantheism ;  in  having  connected 
the  doctrine  of  the  East  with  the  dialectics  of  the  Greeks ;  in 
having  made  Reason  the  justification  of  Faith. 

There  are  three  essential  points  to  be  here  examined :  their 
Dialectics,  their  theory  of  the  Trinity,  and  their  principle  of 
Emanation.  By  their  Dialectics  they  were  Platonists ;  by  their 


316  ANTAGONISM   OF   CHRISTIANITY,    ETC. 

theory  of  the  Trinity  they  were  Mystics ;  by  their  principle  of 
Emanation  they  were  Pantheists. 

§  II.  THE  ALEXANDRIAN  DIALECTICS. 

The  nature  of  the  Platonic  Dialectics  we  hope  to  have  already 
rendered  intelligible ;  so  that  in  saying  Plotinus  employed  them 
we  are  saved  from  much  needless  repetition.  But  although  Dia 
lectics  formed  the  basis  of  Alexandrian  philosophy,  they  did  not, 
as  with  Plato,  furnish  the  grounds  of  belief.  As  far  as  human 
philosophy  went,  Dialectics  were  efficient ;  but  there  were  pro 
blems  which  did  not  come  within  the  sphere  of  human  philos 
ophy,  and  for  these  another  Method  was  requisite. 

Plotinus  agreed  with  Plato  that  there  could  only  be  a  science 
of  Universals.  Every  individual  thing  was  but  a  phenomenon, 
passing  quickly  away,  and  having  no  real  existence ;  it  could  not 
therefore  be  the  object  of  philosophy.  But  these  universals — 
these  Ideas  which  are  the  only  real  existences — are  they  not  also 
subordinate  to  some  higher  Existence  ?  Phenomena  were  sub 
ordinate  to  Noumena ;  but  Noumena  themselves  were  subordinate 
to  the  One  Noumenon.  In  other  words,  the  Sensible  world  was 
but  the  Appearance  of  the  Ideal  World,  and  the  Ideal  World  in 
its  turn  was  but  the  mode  of  God's  existence. 

The  question  then  arises  :  How  do  we  know  any  thing  of  God  ? 
The  sensible  world  we  perceive  through  our  senses ;  the  Ideal 
World  we  gain  glimpses  of  through  the  reminiscence  which  the 
sensible  world  awakens  in  us ;  but  how  are  we  to  take  the  last 
step — how  are  we  to  know  the  Deity  ? 

I  am  a  finite  being ;  but  how  can  I  comprehend  the  Infinite  ? 
As  soon  as  I  comprehend  the  Infinite,  I  am  Infinite  myself;  that 
is  to  say,  I  am  no  longer  myself,  no  longer  that  finite  being,  hav 
ing  a  consciousness  of  his  own  separate  existence.*  If,  there 
fore,  I  attain  to  a  knowledge  of  the  Infinite,  it  is  not  by  my  Rea- 


*  Ttj  uv  ovv  TIJV  6{>vafiiv  avrou  cXot  b^ov  iraaav ;  et  yap  bftou  naaav,  ri  av  Tig 
avrov  Siatyipui. — Plotinus,  Etin.  v.  lib.  5.  c.  10. 


THE    ALEXANDRIAN    DIALECTICS.  317 

son,  which  is  finite  and  embraces  only  finite  objects,  but  by  some 
higher  faculty,  a  faculty  altogether  impersonal,  which  identifies 
itself  with  its  object. 

The  identity  of  Subject  and  Object — of  the  thought  with  the 
thing  thought  of — is  the  only  possible  ground  of  knowledge. 
This  position,  which  some  of  our  readers  will  recognize  as  the 
fundamental  position  of  modern  German  speculation,  is  so  re 
moved  from  all  ordinary  conceptions,  that  we  must  digress  awhile 
in  order  to  explain  it.  Neo-Platonism  is  a  blank  without  it. 

Knowledge  and  Being  are  Identical ;  to  know  more  is  to  be 
more.  This  is  not,  of  course,  maintaining  the  absurd  proposition 
that  to  know  a  horse  is  to  be  a  horse  :  all  we  know  of  that  horse 
is  only  what  we  know  of  the  changes  in  ourselves  occasioned  by 
some  external  cause,  and  identifying  our  internal  change  with 
that  external  cause,  we  call  it  a  horse.  Here  knowledge  and  be 
ing  are  identical.  We  really  know  nothing  of  the  external  cause 
(horse),  we  only  know  our  own  state  of  being ;  and  to  say,  there 
fore,  that  "  in  our  knowledge  of  the  horse  we  are  the  horse,"  is 
only  saying,  in  unusual  language,  that  our  knowledge  is  a  state 
of  our  being,  and  nothing  more.  The  discussion  in  the  fourth 
Chapter  of  the  foregoing  Epoch  respecting  perception,  was  an 
attempt  to  prove  that  knowledge  is  only  a  state  of  our  own  con 
sciousness,  excited  by  some  unknown  cause.  The  cause  must 
remain  unknown,  because  knowledge  is  effect,  not  cause. 

An  apple  is  presented  to  you ;  you  se-e  it,  feel  it,  taste  it,  smell 
it,  and  are  said  to  know  it.  What  is  this  knowledge  ?  Simply 
a  consciousness  of  the  various  ways  in  which  the  apple  affects 
you.  You  are  blind  and  cannot  see  it :  there  is  one  quality  less 
which  it  possesses,  i.  e.  one  mode  less  in  which  it  is  possible  for 
you  to  be  affected.  You  are  without  the  senses  of  smell  and 
taste  :  there  are  two  other  deficiencies  in  your  knowledge  of  the 
apple.  So  that,  by  taking  away  your  senses,  we  take  away  from 
the  apple  each  of  its  qualities  :  in  other  words,  we  take  away  the 
means  of  your  being  affected.  Your  knowledge  of  the  apple  is 
reduced  to  nothing.  In  a  similar  way,  by  endowing  you  with 


318  ANTAGONISM    OF    CHRISTIANITY,    ETC. 

more  senses  we  increase  the  qualities  of  the  apple  ;  we  increase 
your  knowledge  by  enlarging  your  being.  Thus  are  Knowledge 
and  Being  identical  ;  knowledge  is  a  state  of  Being  as  knowing. 

"If,"  said  Plotinus,  "knowledge  is  the  same  as  the  thing 
known,  the  Finite,  as  Finite,  never  can  know  the  Infinite,  because 
it  cannot  be  the  Infinite.  To  attempt,  therefore,  to  know  the  In 
finite  by  Reason  is  futile,  it  can  only  be  known  in  immediate 
presence,  ffapourfia.  The  faculty  by  which  the  mind  divests  itself 
of  its  personality  is  Ecstasy.  In  this  Ecstasy  the  soul  becomes 
loosened  from  its  material  prison,  separated  from  individual  con 
sciousness,  and  becomes  absorbed  in  the  Infinite  Intelligence 
from  which  it  emanated.  In  this  Ecstasy  it  contemplates  real 
existence  ;  it  identifies  itself  with  that  which  it  contemplates." 

The  enthusiasm  upon  which  this  Ecstasy  is  founded  is  not  a 
faculty  which  we  constantly  possess,  such  as  Reason  or  Percep 
tion  :  it  is  only  a  transitory  state,  at  least  so  long  as  our  personal 
existence  in  this  world  continues.  It  is  a  flash  of  rapturous  light, 
in  which  reminiscence  is  changed  into  intuition,  because  in  that 
moment  the  captive  soul  is  given  back  to  its  parent,  its  God. 
The  bonds  which  attach  the  soul  to  the  body  are  mortal  ;  and 
God,  our  father,  pitying  us,  has  made  those  bonds,  from  which 
we  suffer,  fragile  and  delicate,  and  in  his  goodness  he  gives  us 
certain  intervals  of  respite  :  Zevg  &  tfa<njp  zki^ag  tfcvoujxsvaf, 
^v^-rcx,  au-rojv  <ra  dstfpa  tfoiwv  rfsi  a  tfovouvra/,  (Ji'^wtfiv  avatfauXag1  sv 


The  Oriental  and  mystical  character  of  this  conception  is  worth 
remarking  ;  at  the  same  time  there  is  a  Platonic  element  in  it, 
which  may  be  noticed.  Plato,  in  the  Ion,  speaks  of  a  chain  of 
inspiration,  which  descends  from  Apollo  to  poets,  who  transmit 
the  inspiration  to  the  rhapsodists;  the  last  links  of  the  chain  are 
the  souls  of  lovers  and  philosophers,  who,  unable  to  transmit  the 
divine  gift,  are  nevertheless  agitated  by  it.  The  Alexandrians 
also  admit  the  divine  inspiration  :  not  that  inspiration  which 
only  warms  and  exalts  the  heart,  but  that  inspiration  revealing 
the  Truth  which  Reason  can  neither  discern  nor  comprehend. 


THE    ALEXANDRIAN    DIALECTICS.  319 

Whether,  in  ascending  through  the  various  sciences  and  labori 
ously  mounting  all  the  degrees  of  Dialectics,  we  finally  arrive  at 
the  summit,  and  tear  away  the  veil  behind  which  the  Deity  is 
hidden ;  or,  instead  of  thus  slowly  mounting,  we  arrive  at  the 
summit  by  a  sudden  spring,  by  the  force  of  virtue  or  by  the  force 
of  love,  the  origin  of  this  revelation  is  the  same :  the  Poet,  the 
Prophet,  and  the  Philosopher  only  differ  in  the  point  of  depart 
ure  each  takes.  Dialectics,  therefore,  though  a  valuable  method, 
is  not  an  infallible  one  for  arriving  at  Ecstasy.  Every  thing 
which  purifies  the  soul  and  makes  it  resemble  its  primal  simpli 
city,  is  capable  of  conducting  it  to  Ecstasy.  Besides,  there  are 
radical  differences  in  men's  natures.  Some  souls  are  ravished 
with  Beauty ;  and  these  belong  to  the  Muses.  Others  are  ravish 
ed  with  Unity  and  Proportion ;  and  these  are  Philosophers. 
Others  are  more  struck  with  Moral  perfections ;  and  these  are 
the  pious  and  ardent  souls  who  live  only  in  religion. 

Thus,  then,  the  passage  from  simple  Sensation,  or  from  Remi 
niscence,  to  Ecstasy,  may  be  accomplished  in  three  ways.  By 
Music  (in  the  ancient  and  comprehensive  sense  of  the  term),  by 
Dialectics,  and  by  Love  or  Prayer.  The  result  is  always  the 
same, — the  victory  of  the-  Universal  over  the  Individual. 

Such  is  the  answer  given  by  the  Alexandrians  to  that  world- 
old  question,  How  do  we  know  God  ?  The  Reason  of  man  is  in 
competent  to  such  knowledge,  because  Reason  is  finite,  and  the 
finite  cannot  embrace  the  infinite.  But,  inasmuch  as  Man  has  a 
knowledge  of  the  Deity,  he  must  have  obtained  it  in  some  way : 
the  question  is,  In  what  way  ?  This  question,  which  the  Chris 
tian  Fathers  were  enabled  to  answer  satisfactorily  by  referring  to 
Revelation,  the  Alexandrians  could  only  answer  most  unsatisfac 
torily  by  declaring  Ecstasy  to  be  the  medium  of  communication, 
because  in  Ecstasy  the  soul  lost  its  personality  and  became  ab 
sorbed  in  the  Infinite  Intelligence. 

We  may  read  in  this  philosophy  an  instructive  lessor  respect 
ing  the  vicious  circle  in  which  all  such  reasonings  are  condemned 
to  move : 


320  ANTAGONISM  OF  CHRISTIANITY,  ETC. 

"The  one  poor  finite  being  in  the  abyss 
Of  infinite  being  twinkling  restlessly." 

This  finite  being  strives  to  comprehend  that  which  includes  it, 
and  in  the  impossible  attempt  exerts  its  confident  ingenuity. 
Conscious  that  the  finite  as  finite  cannot  comprehend  the  infinite, 
the  Alexandrian  hypothesis  is  at  least  consistent  in  making  the 
finite  become,  for  an  instant,  infinite.  The  grounds  however 
upon  which  this  hypothesis  is  framed  are  curious.  The  axiom 
is  this  : — The  finite  cannot  comprehend  the  infinite.  The  prob 
lem  is  this  : — How  can  the  finite  comprehend  the  infinite  ?  And 
the  solution  is  :  The  finite  must  become  the  infinite. 

Absurd  as  it  is,  it  is  the  conclusion  deduced  by  a  vigorous  in 
tellect  from  premises  which  seemed  indisputable.  It  is  only  one 
of  the  absurdities  inseparable  from  the  attempted  solution  of  in 
soluble  problems. 

§  III.  THE  ALEXANDRIAN  TRINITY. 

We  have  said  that  the  philosophy  of  the  Alexandrians  was  a 
theology ;  their  theology  may  be  said  to  be  concentrated  in  the 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  Nearly  allied  to  the  mystery  of  the  In 
carnation,  which  was  inseparable  from  the  mystery  of  Redemp 
tion,  the  dogma  of  the  Holy  Trinity  was,  as  M.  Saisset  remarks, 
the  basis  of  all  the  Christian  metaphysics.  The  greater  part  of 
the  important  heresies,  Arianism,  Sabellianism,  Nestorianism, 
etc.,  resulted  from  differences  respecting  some  portion  of  this 
doctrine.  It  becomes,  therefore,  a  matter  of  high  historical  in 
terest  to  determine  its  parentage.  Some  maintain  that  the  Trin 
ity  of  the  Christians  was  but  an  imitation  of  that  of  the  Alexan 
drians  ;  others  accuse  the  Alexandrians  of  being  the  imitators. 
The  dispute  has  been  angrily  conducted  on  both  sides.  It  is  not 
our  purpose  to  meddle  with  it,  as  our  history  steers  clear  of  such 
matters ;  but  we  think  it  right  to  indicate  the  quarrel.* 

*  Such  of  our  readers  as  may  desire  a  compendious  statement  of  the 
question  are  referred  to  M.  Jules  Simon,  Histolre  tie  V  Ecole  (V Alexandrie, 
vol.  i.  pp.  308-341,  and  to  the  article  by  M.  Saisset,  in  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes,  before  referred  to. 


THE    ALEXANDRIAN    TKINITY.  321 

The  Alexandrian  Trinity  is  as  follows : — God  is  triple,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  one.  His  nature  contains  within  it  three  distinct 
Hypostases  (Substances,  i.  e.  Persons),  and  these  three  make  one 
Being.  The  first  is  the  Unity  :  not  The  One  Being,  not  Being 
at  all,  but  simple  Unity.  The  second  is  the  Intelligence,  which 
is  identical  with  Being.  The  third  is  the  Universal  Soul,  cause 
of  all  activity  and  life. 

Such  is  the  formula  of  the  dogma.  Let  us  now  see  how  their 
Dialectics  conducted  them  to  it.  On  looking  abroad  upon  the 
world,  and  observing  its  constant  transformations,  what  is  the 
first  thing  that  presents  itself  to  our  minds  as  the  cause  of  all 
these  changes  ?  It  is  Life.  The  whole  world  is  alive  ;  and,  not 
only  alive,  but  seemingly  participating  in  a  life  similar  to  our 
own.  On  looking  deeper,  we  discover  that  life  itself  is  but  an 
effect  of  some  higher  cause ;  and  this  cause  must  be  the  "  Uni 
versal,"  which  we  are  seeking  to  discover.  Our  logic  tells  us  that 
it  is  Activity — Motion.  But  with  this  Motion  we  cannot  pro 
ceed  far.  It  soon  becomes  apparent  to  us  that  the  myriad  on 
goings  of  nature  are  not  merely  activities,  but  intelligent  activities. 
No  hazard  rules  this  world.  Intelligence  is  everywhere  visible. 
The  Cause,  then,  we  have  been  seeking  is  at  last  discovered  :  it 
is  an  Intelligent  Activity.  Now,  what  is  this,  but  that  mysterious 
force  residing  within  us,  directing  us,  impelling  us  ?  What  is 
this  Intelligent  Activity  but  a  soul  ?  The  soul  which  impels  and 
directs  us  is  an  image  of  the  Soul  which  impels  and  directs  the 
world.  God,  therefore,  is  the  eternal  Soul,  the  4^;^.  We  have 
here  the  first  Hypostasis  of  the  Alexandrians.  On  a  deeper  inspec 
tion  this  notion  turns  out  less  satisfactory.  The  dialectician,  whose 
whole  art  consists  in  dividing  and  subdividing,  in  order  to  arrive 
at  pure  unity — who  is  always  unravelling  the  perplexed  web  of 
speculation,  to  lay  bare  at  last  the  unmixed  One  which  had  be 
come  enveloped  in  the  Many — the  dialectician,  bred  up  in  the 
Schools  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  could  not  rest  satisfied  with  so 
complex  an  entity  as  an  Intelligent  Activity.  There  are  at  least 
two  ideas  here,  and  two  ideas  entirely  distinct  in  nature,  viz.,  In- 

H* 


322  ANTAGONISM   OF   CHRISTIANITY,    ETC. 

telligeuce  and  Motion.  Now,  although  these  might  be  united  in 
some  idea  common  to  both,  yet  superior  to  both,  neither  of  them 
could  be  considered  as  the  last  term  in  an  analysis.  The  Intel 
ligence,  when  analyzed,  is  itself  the  activity  of  some  intelligent 
being,  of  Mind,  Xo^oj. 

God,  therefore,  is  Mind,  absolute,  eternal,  immutable.  We 
have  here  the  second  Hypostasis.  Superior  to  the  Divine  Soul, 
4/u^  TOU  tfavroV,  which  is  the  cause  of  all  activity,  and  king  of 
the  sensible  world,  "xopyyvs  rfs  xivTJrfsw^,  /^atfiXsuj  TOJV  ^•j/vojasvwv, 
we  find  the  Divine  Mind,  voUj,  the  magnificence  of  which  we  may 
faintly  conceive  by  reflecting  on  the  splendors  of  the  sensible 
world,  with  the  Gods,  Men,  Animals,  and  Plants,  which  adorn 
it:  splendors  which  are  but  imperfect  images  of  the  incomparable 
lustre  of  eternal  truth.  The  Divine  Mind  embraces  all  the  intel 
ligible  Ideas  which  are  without  imperfection,  without  movement. 
This  is  the  Age  of  Gold,  of  which  God  is  the  Saturn.  For  Saturn, 
of  whom  the  Poets  have  so  grandly  sung,  is  the  Divine  Intelli 
gence  ;  that  perfect  world  which  they  have  described,  when 

"  Vcr  erat  seternum  :  placidique  tepentibus  auris 
Mulcebant  Zephyri  natos  sine  semine  flores. 
Mox  ctiam  fruges  tell  us  inarata  ferebat ; 
Nee  renovatus  ager  gravidis  canebat  aristis. 
Flumina  jam  laetis,  jam  flumina  nectaris  ibant; 
Flavaque  de  viridi  stillabarit  iliee  mella."* 

That  golden  age  is  the  Intelligible  World,  the  eternal  Thought 
of  eternal  Intelligence. 

A  word  or  two  on  this  Alexandrian  vofe.  It  is  Thought  ab 
stracted  from  all  thinking :  it  does  not  reason  ;  for  to  reason  is 
to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  something :  he  who  reasons,  arrives 
at  a  consequence  from  his  premises,  which  he  did  not  see  in 
those  premises  without  effort.  But  God  sees  the  consequence 

*  "The  flowers  unsown  in  fields  and  meadows  reigned; 
And  western  winds  immortal  spring  maintained. 
In  following  years  the  bearded  corn  ensued 
From  earth  unasked  ;  nor  was  that  earth  renewed. 
From  veins  of  valleys  milk  and  nectar  broke, 
And  honey  sweating  from  the  pores  of  oak." — DKYDEN'S  Ovid. 


THE   ALEXANDRIAN    TRINITY.  323 

simultaneously  with  the  premises.  His  knowledge  resembles  our 
knowledge  as  hieroglyphic  writing  resembles  our  written  lan 
guage  :  that  which  we  discursively  develop,  he  embraces  at  once. 

This  vous  is  at  the  same  time  the  eternal  existence,  since  all 
Ideas  are  united  in  it.  It  is  the  vdytfig  vorjtfswj  VOTJO^  of  Aristotle, — 
or,  to  use  the  language  of  Plotinus,  is  the  Sight  Seeing,  the  iden 
tity  of  the  act  of  seeing  with  the  object  seen  :  grfri  yap  »j  VO'TJO'JS 
6'patfi^  opwa'a,  ajjwpw  TO  s'v, — a  conception  which  will  at  once  be 
understood  by  recurring  to  our  illustration  of  the  identity  of 
Knowledge  and  Being,  given  above. 

One  would  fancy  that  this  was  a  degree  of  abstraction  to  sat 
isfy  the  most  ardent  dialectician  ;  to  have  analyzed  thus  far,  and 
to  have  arrived  at  pure  Thought  and  pure  Existence — the  Thought 
apart  from  Thinking  and  the  Existence  apart  from  its  modes — 
would  seem  the  very  limit  of  human  ingenuity,  the  last  abstrac 
tion  possible.  But  no :  the  dialectician  is  not  yet  contented : 
he  sees  another  degree  of  abstraction  still  higher,  still  simpler : 
he  calls  it  Unity.  God,  as  Existence  and  Thought,  is  God  as 
conceived  by  human  intelligence  :  but,  although  human  intelli 
gence  is  unable  to  embrace  any  higher  notion  of  God,  yet  is  there 
in  human  intelligence  a  hint  of  its  own  weakness  and  an  as 
surance  of  God's  being  something  ineffable,  incomprehensible. 
God  is  not,  en  derniere  analyse,  Existence  and  Thought.  What 
is  Thought  ?  What  is  its  type  ?  The  type  is  evidently  human 
reason.  What  does  an  examination  of  human  reason  reveal  ? 
This  : — To  think  is  to  be  aware  of  some  object  from  which  the 
thinker  distinguishes  himself.  To  think  is  to  have  a  self-con 
sciousness,  to  distinguish  one's  personality  from  that  of  all  other 
objects,  to  determine  the  relation  of  self  to  not-self.  But  nothing 
is  external  to  God  :  in  him  there  can  be  no  distinction,  no  determi 
nation,  no  relation.  Therefore  God,  in  his  highest  hypostasis,  can 
not  think,  cannot  be  thought,  but  must  be  something  superior  to 
thought.  Hence,  the  necessity  for  a  third  hypostasis,  which  third 
in  the  order  of  discovery  is  first  in  the  order  of  being :  it  is  Unity, — 


324:  ANTAGONISM   OF    CHRISTIANITY,    ETC. 

The  Unity  is  not  Existence,  neither  is  it  Intelligence — it  is 
superior  to  both  :  it  is  superior  to  all  action,  to  all  determina 
tion,  to  all  knowledge  ;  for,  in  the  same  way  as  the  multiple  is 
contained  in  the  simple,  the  many  in  the  one,  in  the  same  way  is 
the  simple  contained  in  the  unity ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  dis 
cover  the  truth  of  things  until  we  have  arrived  at  this  absolute 
unity ;  for,  how  can  we  conceive  any  existing  thing  except  by 
unity  ?  What  is  an  individual,  an  animal,  a  plant,  but  that 
unity  which  presides  over  multiplicity  I  What  even  is  multi 
plicity — an  army,  an  assembly,  a  flock — when  not  brought  under 
unity  ?  Unity  is  omnipresent ;  it  is  the  bond  which  unites  even 
the  most  complex  things.  The  Unity  which  is  absolute,  immu 
table,  infinite,  and  self-sufficing  is  not  the  numerical  unit,  not  the 
indivisible  point.  It  is  the  absolute  universal  One  in  its  perfect 
simplicity.  It  is  the  highest  degree  of  perfection — the  ideal 
Beauty,  the  supreme  Good,  ^pwrov  dyc^ov. 

God  therefore  in  his  absolute  state — in  his  first  and  highest 
Hypostasis — is  neither  Existence  nor  Thought,  neither  moved 
nor  mutable :  he  is  the  simple  Unity,  orr  as  Hegel  would  say, 
the  Absolute  Nothing,  the  Immanent  Negative.  Our  readers 
will  perhaps  scarcely  be  patient  under  this  infliction  of  dialec 
tical  subtlety  ;  but  we  beg  them  to  remember  that  the  absurdities 
of  genius  are  often  more  instructive  than  the  discoveries  of  com 
mon  men,  and  the  subtleties  and  extravagances  of  the  Alexan 
drians  are  fraught  with  lessons.  If  rigorous  logic  conducted 
eminent  minds  to  conceptions  which  appear  extravagant  and 
sterile,  they  may  induce  in  us  a  wholesome  suspicion  of  the  effi 
cacy  of  that  logic  to  solve  the  problems  it  is  occupied  with.  Nor 
is  the  lesson  inapplicable  to  our  age.  The  present  enthusiasm 
for  German  Literature  and  German  Philosophy  will  of  course 
turn  the  attention  of  many  young  minds  to  the  speculations  in 
which  Germany  is-  so  rife ;  we  are  consequently  more  interested 
in  Plotinus,  because  he  agitates  similar  questions  and  affords  very 
similar  answers.  The  German  Metaphysicians  resemble  Plotinus 
more  than  Plato  or  Aristotle  :  nor  is  the  reason  difficult  of  dis- 


THE   ALEXANDRIAN   TRINITY.  325 

covery.  Plotinus,  coming  after  all  the  great  thinkers  had  asked 
almost  every  metaphysical  question  and  given  almost  every  pos 
sible  answer,  was  condemned  either  to  skepticism  or  to  accept 
any  consequences  of  his  dialectics,  however  extreme.  Philosophy 
was  in  this  dilemma — either  to  abdicate,  or  to  be  magnificently 
tyrannical :  it  chose  to  be  the  latter.  Plotinus  therefore  shrank 
from  no  extravagances  :  where  Reason  failed,  there  he  called 
upon  Faith.  The  Germans,  coming  after  the  secure  establish 
ment  of  Positive  Science,  found  Philosophy  in  a  similar  dilemma: 
either  to  declare  itself  incapable,  or  to  proclaim  its  despotism 
and  infallibility :  what  Logic  demonstrated  must  be  absolutely 
true. 

This  faith  in  logic  is  remarkable,  and  may  be  contrasted  with 
the  Alexandrian  faith  in  Ecstasy.  Of  the  possibility  of  human 
logic  not  being  the  standard  of  truth,  the  Germans  have  no  sus 
picion  ;  they  are  without  the  Greek  skepticism  as  to  the  Crite- 
rium.  They  proceed  with  peaceable  dogmatism  to  tell  you  that 
God  is  this,  or  that ;  to  explain  how  the  Nothing  becomes  the 
Existing  world,  to  explain  many  other  inexplicable  things ;  and, 
if  you  stop  them  with  the  simple  inquiry,  How  do  you  know 
this?  what  is  your  ground  of  certitude?  they  smile,  allude 
blandly  to  Vernunft,  and  continue  their  exposition. 

Plotinus  was  wiser,  though  less  consequent.  He  said,  that 
although  Dialectics  raise  us  to  some  conviction  of  the  existence 
of  God,  we  cannot  speak  of  his  nature  otherwise  than  negatively : 
gv  d^oupsVsi  Travra  <ra  irspi  <rou<rov  Xc^o/jisva.  We  are  forced  to  ad 
mit  his  existence,  though  it  is  not  correct  to  speak  even  of  his 
existence.  To  say  that  he  is  superior  to  Existence  and  Thought, 
is  not  to  define  him ;  it  is  only  to  distinguish  him  from  what  he 
is  not.  What  he  is  we  cannot  know ;  it  would  be  ridiculous  to 
endeavor  to  comprehend  him.  This  difference  apart,  there  is 
remarkable  similarity  in  the  speculations  of  the  Alexandrians 
and  the  modern  Germans :  a  similarity  which  all  will  detect  who 
are  capable  of  detecting  identity  of  thought  under  diversity  of 
language. 


326  ANTAGONISM   OF   CHRISTIANITY,  ETC. 

To  return  to  the  Alexandrian  Trinity,  we  see  in  it  the  Perfect 
Principle,  the  One,  TO  g'v  a-jrXoiJv,  which  generates,  but  is  ungen- 
erated  ;  the  Principle  generated  by  the  Perfect,  is  of  all  gener 
ated  things  the  most  perfect  :  it  is  therefore  Intelligence  —  vouj. 
In  the  same  way  as  Intelligence  is  the  Word  (Xo^oj)  of  the  One 
and  the  manifestation  of  its  power,  so  also  the  Soul  is  the 
Word  and  manifestation  of  the  Intelligence,  o/ov  xa/  v\  4^UX^  ^°7°£ 
vou.  The  three  Hypostases  of  the  Deity  are  therefore,  1st,  the 
Perfect,  the  Absolute  Unity,  TO  §'v  acrXouv  ;  2d,  the  First  Intel 
ligence,  TO  vouv  tfpwTwj  ;  3d,  the  Soul  of  the  world. 

This  Trinity  is  very  similar  to  the  threefold  nature  of  God  in 
Spinoza's  system.  Spinoza  says,  that  God  is  the  infinite  Exist 
ence,  having  two  infinite  Attributes  —  Extension  and  Thought. 
Now  this  Existence,  which  has  neither  Extension  nor  Thought, 
except  as  Attributes,  although  verbally  differing  from  the  Abso 
lute  Unconditioned,  the  One,  of  Plotinus,  is,  in  point  of  fact, 
the  same  :  it  is  the  last  abstraction  which  human  logic  can 
make  :  it  is  that  of  which  nothing  can  be  predicated,  and  yet 
which  must  be  the  final  predicate  of  every  thing  :  division  and 
subdivision,  however  prolonged,  stop  there,  and  admit  as  final 
the  Unconditioned  Unconditional  Something;  that  which  Pro- 
clus  calls  the  Non-Being,  \w\  o'v,  although  it  is  not  correct  to  call 
it  nothing,  pySiv. 

This  conception,  which  it  is  impossible  to  state  in  words  with 
out  stating  gross  contradictions,  is  the  result  of  rigorous  logic, 
reasoning  from  false  premises.  The  process  is  this  :  I  have  to 
discover  that  which  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  mystery  of  exist 
ence  —  the  great  First  Cause  ;  and  to  do  this,  I  must  eliminate, 
one  by  one,  every  thing  which  does  not  present  itself  as  self-ex 
isting,  self-sufficing,  as  necessarily  the  first  of  all  things,  the 


The  ancients  began  their  speculations  in  the  same  way,  but 
with  less  knowledge  of  the  conditions  of  inquiry.  Hence,  Water, 
Air,  Soul,  Number,  Force,  were  severally  accepted  as  Principia. 
In  the  time  of  the  Alexandrians  something  more  subtle  was 


THE    ALEXANDRIAN    TRINITY.  327 

required.  They  asked  the  same  question,  but  they  asked  it 
with  a  full  consciousness  of  the  failure  of  their  predecessors. 
Even  Thought  would  not  satisfy  them  as  a  Principium ;  nor 
were  they  better  satisfied  with  abstract  Existence.  They  said 
there  is  something  beyond  Thought,  something  beyond  Exist 
ence  :  there  is  that  which  thinks,  that  which  exists.  This  "  that" 
this  Indeterminate  Ineffable,  is  the  Principium.  It  is  self-suf 
ficing,  self-existent ;  nothing  can  be  conceived  beyond  it.  In  the 
old  Indian  hypothesis  of  the  world  being  supported  by  an  ele 
phant,  who  stood  on  the  back  of  a  tortoise,  the  tortoise  standing 
on  nothing,  we  see  a  rude  solution  of  the  same  problem :  the 
mind  is  forced  to  arrest  itself  somewhere,  and  wherever  it  ar 
rests  itself  it  is  forced  to  declare,  explicitly  or  implicitly,  that  it 
stops  at  Nothing ;  because,  as  soon  as  it  predicates  any  thing  of 
that  at  which  it  stops,  it  is  forced  to  admit  something  beyond : 
if  the  tortoise  stands  on  the  back  of  some  other  animal,  upon 
what  does  that  other  animal  stand  ? 

Human  logic,  when  employed  upon  this  subject,  necessarily 
abuts  upon  Nothing,  upon  absolute  Negation ;  the  terms  in 
which  this  conception  is  clothed  may  differ,  but  the  conception 
remains  the  same :  Plotimis  and  Hegel  shake  hands. 

In  reviewing  the  history  of  Greek  speculation,  from  the 
"  Water"  of  Thales  to  the  "  Absolute  Negation"  of  Plotinus,  what 
a  reflection  is  forced  upon  us  of  the  vanity  of  metaphysics !  So 
many  years  of  laborious  inquiry,  so  many  splendid  minds  en 
gaged,  and,  after  the  lapse  of  ages,  the  inquiry  remains  the 
same,  the  answer  only  more  ingeniously  absurd !  Was,  then, 
all  this  labor  vain?  Were  those  long,  laborious  years,  all 
wasted  ?  Were  those  splendid  minds  all  useless  ?  No  :  earnest 
endeavor  is  seldom  without  result.  Those  centuries  of  specula 
tion  were  not  useless,  they  were  the  education  of  the  human 
race.  They  taught  mankind  this  truth,  at  least:  the  Infinite 
cannot  be  known  by  the  finite ;  and  man,  as  finite,  can  only 
know  phenomena.  Those  labors,  so  fruitless  in  their  immediate 
object,  have  indirect  lessons.  The  speculations  of  the  Greeks 


328  ANTAGONISM   OF   CHRISTIANITY,  ETC. 

preserve  the  same  privilege  as  the  glorious  products  of  their  art 
and  literature ;  they  are  the  models  from  which  the  speculations 
of  posterity  are  reproductions.  The  history  of  modern  meta 
physical  philosophy,  is  but  the  narrative  of  the  same  struggles 
which  agitated  Greece.  The  same  problems  are  revived,  and  the 
same  answers  offered. 

§  IV.   THE  DOCTRINE  OF  EMANATION. 

Metaphysics  propounds  three  questions :  Has  human  knowl 
edge  any  absolute  certainty  ?  What  is  the  nature  of  God  ?  What 
is  the  origin  of  the  World  ? 

Our  review  of  the  various  attempts  to  answer  these  questions, 
has  ended  in  the  Alexandrian  School,  which  answered  them  as 
follows:  1st.  Human  knowledge  is  necessarily  uncertain;  but 
this  difficulty  is  got  over  by  the  hypothesis  of  an  Ecstasy,  in 
which  the  soul  becomes  identified  with  the  Infinite.  2d.  The 
Nature  of  God  is  a  triple  Unity — three  hypostases  of  the  One 
Being.  3d.  The  origin  of  the  world  is  the  law  of  Emanation. 

This  third  answer  is  of  course  implied  in  the  second.  God, 
as  Unity,  is  not  Existence ;  but  he  becomes  Existence  by  the 
Emanation  from  his  Unity  (Intelligence),  and  by  the  second  em 
anation  from  his  Intelligence  (Soul),  and  this  Soul,  in  its  mani 
festations,  is  the  World. 

Hitherto  dualism  has  been  the  universal  creed  of  those  who 
admitted  any  distinction  between  the  world  and  its  creator. 
Jupiter,  organizing  Chaos ;  the  God  of  Anaxagoras,  whose  force 
is  wasted  in  creation ;  the  5>jfMoupyo£  of  Plato,  who  conquers  and 
regulates  Matter  and  Motion ;  the  immovable  Thought  of  Aris 
totle  :  all  these  creeds  were  dualistic ;  and,  indeed,  to  escape 
dualism  was  no  easy  task. 

If  God  is  distinct  from  the  World,  dualism  is  at  once  assumed. 
If  he  is  distinct,  he  must  be  distinct  in  Essence.  If  distinct  iu 
essence,  the  question  of  Whence  came  the  world?  is  not  an 
swered;  for  the  world  must  have  existed  contemporaneously 
with  him. 


THE   DOCTRINE    OF    EMANATION.  329 

Here  lies  the  difficulty  :  either  God  made  the  world,  or  he  did 
not.  If  he  made  it,  whence  did  he  make  it  ?  He  could  not, 
said  logic,  make  it  out  of  Nothing;  for  nothing  can  come  of 
Nothing;  he  must,  therefore,  have  made  it  out  of  his  own  sub 
stance.  If  it  is  made  out  of  his  own  substance,  then  it  is  iden 
tical  with  him  :  it  must,  then,  have  existed  already  in  him,  or  he 
could  not  have  produced  it.  But  this  identification  of  God  with 
the  world  is  Pantheism ;  and  begs  the  question,  it  should  answer. 

If  he  did  not  make  it  out  of  his  own  substance,  he  must  have 
made  it  out  of  some  substance  already  existing ;  and  thus,  also, 
the  question  still  remains  unanswered. 

This  problem  was  solved  by  the  Christians  and  Alexandrians 
in  a  similar,  though  apparently  different,  manner.  The  Chris 
tians  said  that  God  created  the  world  out  of  Nothing  by  the 
mere  exercise  of  his  omnipotent  will ;  for  to  Omnipotence  every 
thing  is  possible ;  one  thing  is  as  easy  as  another.  The  Alex 
andrians  said  that  the  world  was  distinct  from  God  in  act  rather 
than  in  essence :  it  was  the  manifestation  of  his  will  or  of  his 
intelligence. 

Thus  the  world  is  God ;  but  God  is  not  the  world.  Without 
the  necessity  of  two  principles,  the  distinction  is  preserved  between 
the  Creator  and  the  Created.  God  is  not  confounded  with  Mat 
ter  ;  and  yet  Philosophy  is  no  longer  oppressed  with  the  difficul 
ty  of  accounting  for  two  eternally  existing  and  eternally  distinct 
principles. 

Plotinus  had  by  his  Dialectics  discovered  the  necessity  of 
Unity  as  the  basis  of  existence  :  he  had  also  by  the  same  means 
discovered  that  the  Unity  could  not  possibly  remain  alone  :  other 
wise  there  would  never  have  been  the  Many.  If  the  Many  im 
plies  the  One,  the  One  also  implies  the  Many.  It  is  the  property 
of  each  principle  to  engender  that  which  follows  it :  to  engender 
it  in  virtue  of  an  ineffable  power  which  loses  nothing  of  itself. 
This  power,  ineffable,  inexhaustible,  exercises  itself  without  stop 
ping,  from  generation  to  generation,  till  it  attains  the  limits  of 
possibility. 


330  ANTAGONISM    OF   CHRISTIANITY,  ETC. 

By  this  law,  which  governs  the  world,  and  from  which  God 
himself  cannot  escape,  the  totality  of  existences,  which  Dialectics 
teach  us  to  arrange  in  a  proper  hierarchy  from  God  to  sensible 
Matter,  appear  to  us  thus  united  in  one  indissoluble  chain,  since 
each  being  is  the  necessary  product  of  that  which  precedes  it, 
and  the  necessary  producer  of  that  which  succeeds  it. 

If  asked  why  Unity  should  ever  become  Multiplicity — why  God 
should  ever  manifest  himself  in  the  world?  the  answer  is  ready: 
The  One,  as  conceived  by  the  Eleatics,  had  long  been  found  in 
complete  ;  for  a  God  who  had  no  intelligence  could  not  be  per 
fect  :  as  Aristotle  says,  a  God  who  does  not  think  is  unworthy 
of  respect.  If,  therefore,  God  is  Intelligent,  he  is  necessarily  ac 
tive  :  a  force  that  engenders  nothing,  can  that  be  a  real  force  ? 
It  was,  therefore,  in  the  very  nature  of  God  a  necessity  for  him 
to  create  the  world :  sv  Ty  (putfsi  rp  TO  tfoisn. 

God,  therefore,  is  in  his  very  essence  a  Creator,  #0^%.  He 
is  like  a  Sun  pouring  forth  his  rays,  without  losing  any  of  its 
substance  :  o/'ov  sx  <pw<ro£,  T^V  sg  aurou  tf£pi'Xa|x%)^v.  All  this  flux — 
this  constant  change  of  things,  this  birth  and  death — is  but  the 
restless  manifestation  of  a  restless  force.  These  manifestations 
have  no  absolute  truth,  no  duration.  The  individual  perishes, 
because  individual :  it  is  only  the  universal  that  endures.  The 
individual  is  the  finite,  the  perishable  ;  the  universal  is  the  infinite, 
immortal.  God  is  the  only  existence :  he  is  the  real  existence, 
of  which  we,  and  other  things,  are  but  the  transitory  phenomena. 
And  yet  timid  ignorant  man  fears  death  !  timid  because  ignorant. 
To  die  is  to  live  the  true  life  :  it  is  to  lose,  indeed,  sensation,  pas 
sions,  interests,  to  be  free  from  the  conditions  of  space  and  time, — 
to  lose  personality ;  but  it  is  also  to  quit  this  world  and  to  be 
born  anew  in  God, — to  quit  this  frail  and  pitiable  individuality, 
to  be  absorbed  in  the  being  of  the  Infinite.  To  die  is  to  live  the 
true  life.  Some  faint  glimpses  of  it — some  overpowering  anti 
cipations  of  a  bliss  intolerable  to  mortal  sense,  are  realized  in  the 
brief  moments  of  Ecstasy,  wherein  the  Soul  is  absorbed  in  the 
Infinite,  although  it  cannot  long  remain  there.  Those  moments 


THE    DOCTRINE    OF    EMANATION.  331 

so  exquisite  vet  so  brief  are  sufficient  to  reveal  to  us  the  divinity, 
and  to  show  us  that  deep  imbedded  in  our  personality  there  is  a 
ray  of  the  divine  source  of  light,  a  ray  which  is  always  struggling 
to  disengage  itself,  and  return  to  its  source.  To  die  is  to  live  the 
true  life  :  and  Plotinus  dying,  answered,  in  his  agony,  to  friendly 
questions :  "  I  am  struggling  to  liberate  the  divinity  within  me." 
This  mysticism  is  worth  attention,  as  indicative  of  the  march 
of  the  human  mind.  In  many  preceding  thinkers  we  have  seen 
a  very  strong  tendency  towards  the  desecration  of  personality. 
From  Heraclitus  to  Plotinus  there  is  a  gradual  advance  in  this 
direction.  The  Cynics  and  the  Stoics  made  it  a  sort  of  philo 
sophical  basis.  Plato  implicitly,  and  sometimes  explicitly,  gave 
it  his  concurrence.  The  conviction  of  man's  insignificance,  and 
of  the  impossibility  of  his  ever  in  this  world  ascertaining  the 
truth,  seem  to  have  oppressed  philosophers  with  self-contempt. 
To  curse  the  bonds  which  bound  them  to  ignorance,  and  to  quit  a 
world  in  which  they  were  thus  bound,  were  the  natural  conse 
quences  of  their  doctrines ;  but,  linked  mysteriously  as  we  are  to 
life — even  to  the  life  we  curse — our  doctrines  seldom  lead  to  sui 
cide.  In  default  of  suicide,  nothing  remained  but  Asceticism — 
a  moral  suicide.  As  man  could  not  summon  courage  to  quit  the 
world,  he  would  at  least  endeavor  to  lead  a  life  as  far  removed 
from  worldly  passion  and  worldly  condition  as  was  possible ;  and 
he  would  welcome  death  as  the  only  true  life. 


CHAPTER    III. 
PEOCLUS. 

PLOTINUS  attempted  to  unite  Philosophy  with  Religion,  at 
tempted  to  solve  by  Faith  the  problems  insoluble  by  Reason ;  and 
the  result  of  such  an  attempt  was  necessarily  mysticism.  But, 
although  the  mystical  element  is  an  important  one  in  his  doc 
trine,  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  seduced  into  all  the  extrav 
agances  which  naturally  flowed  from  it.  That  was  reserved  for 
his  successors,  lamblicus  in  particular,  who  performed  miracles, 
and  constituted  himself  High  Priest  of  the  Universe. 

With  Proclus  the  Alexandrian  School  made  a  final  effort,  and 
with  him  its  defeat  was  entire.  He  was  born  at  Constantinople, 
A.  D.  412.  He  came  early  to  Alexandria,  where  Olympiodorus 
was  teaching.  He  passed  onwards  to  Athens,  and  from  Plutarch 
and  Syrianus  he  learnt  to  comprehend  the  doctrines  of  Plato  and 
Aristotle.  Afterwards,  becoming  initiated  into  the  Theurgical 
mysteries,  he  was  soon  made  a  High  Priest  of  the  Universe. 

The  theological  tendency  is  still  more  visible  in  Proclus  than 
in  Plotinus.  He  regarded  the  Orphic  poems  and  the  Chaldean 
oracles  as  divine  revelations,  and,  therefore,  as  the  real  source  of 
philosophy,  if  properly  interpreted ;  and  in  this  allegorical  inter 
pretation  consisted  his  whole  system. 

"  The  intelligible  forms  of  ancient  poets, 
The  fair  humanities  of  old  religion, 
The  Power,  the  Beauty,  and  the  Majesty, 
That  had  her  haunts  in  dale,  or  piny  mountain, 
Or  forest  by  slow  stream,  or  pebbly  spring, 
Or  chasms  and  wat'ry  depths ;  all  these  have  vanish'd, 
They  live  no  longer  in  the  faith  of  reason  ! 
But  still  the  heart  doth  need  a  language,  still 
Doth  the  old  instinct  bring  back  the  old  names. 
And  to  yon  starry  world  they  now  are  gone, 


PROCLUS.  333 

Spirits  or  Gods  that  used  to  share  this  earth 
With  man  as  with  their  friend."* 

To  breathe  the  breath  of  life  into  the  nostrils  of  these  defunct 
deities,  to  restore  the  beautiful  Pagan  creed,  by  interpreting  its 
symbols  in  a  new  sense,  was  the  aim  of  the  whole  Alexandrian 
School. 

Proclus  placed  Faith  above  Science.  It  was  the  only  faculty 
by  which  The  Good,  that  is  to  say,  The  One,  could  be  appre 
hended.  "  The  Philosopher,"  said  he,  "  is  not  the  Priest  of  one 
Religion,  but  of  all  Religions ;"  that  is  to  say,  he  is  to  reconcile 
all  modes  of  Belief  by  his  interpretations.  Reason  is  the  Ex 
positor  of  Faith.  But  Proclus  made  one  exception  :  there  was 
one  Religion  which  he  could  not  tolerate,  which  he  would  not 
interpret, — that  was  the  Christian. 

With  this  conception  of  his  mission,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  his 
method  must  be  eclectic.  Accordingly,  in  making  Philosophy 
the  expositor  of  Religion,  he  relied  upon  the  doctrines  of  his  pre 
decessors  without  pretending  to  discover  new  ones  for  his  pur 
pose.  Aristotle,  whom  he  called  "  the  Philosopher  of  the  under 
standing,"  he  regarded  as  the  man  whose  writings  formed  the  best 
introduction  to  the  study  of  wisdom.  In  him  the  student  learnt 
the  use  of  his  Reason  ;  learnt  also  the  forms  of  thought.  After 
this  preparatory  study  came  the  study  of  Plato,  whom  he  called 
the  "Philosopher  of  Reason,"  the  sole  guide  to  the  region  of 
Ideas,  that  is,  of  Eternal  Truths.  The  reader  will  probably  rec 
ognize  here  the  distinction  between  Understanding  and  Reason, 
revived  by  Kant,  and  so  much  insisted  on  by  Coleridge  and  his 
followers. 

Plato  was  the  idol  of  Proclus;  and  the  passionate  disciple 
thought  every  word  of  the  master  an  oracle ;  he  discovered  every 
where  some  hidden  and  oracular  meaning,  interpreting  the  sim 
plest  recitals  into  sublime  allegories.  Thus  the  affection  of  Soc 
rates  for  Alcibiades  became  the  slender  text  for  a  whole  volume 
of  mystical  exposition. 

*  Coleridge,  in  his  translation  of  the  Pkcolommi. 


334:  PROCLUS. 

It  is  curious  to  notice  the  transformations  of  philosophy  in  the 
various  schools.  Socrates  interpreted  the  inscription  on  the  tem 
ple  at  Delphi,  "  Know  thyself,"  as  an  exhortation  to  psychologi 
cal  and  ethical  study.  He  looked  inwards,  and  there  discovered 
certain  truths  which  skepticism  could  not  darken ;  and  he  dis 
coursed,  says  his  biographer,  on  Justice  and  Injustice,  on  things 
holy  and  things  unholy. 

Plato  also  looked  inwards,  hoping  to  find  there  a  basis  of  phi 
losophy ;  but  his  "Know  thyself"  had  a  different  signification. 
Man  was  to  study  himself,  because,  by  becoming  thoroughly  ac 
quainted  with  his  mind,  he  would  become  acquainted  with  the 
eternal  Ideas  of  which  sense  awakened  Reminiscence.  His  self- 
knowledge  was  Dialectical,  rather  than  Ethical.  The  object  of 
it  was  the  contemplation  of  eternal  Existence,  not  the  regulation 
of  our  worldly  acts. 

The  Alexandrians  also  interpreted  the  inscription ;  but  with 
them  the  Socratic  conception  was  completely  set  aside,  and  the 
Platonic  conception  carried  to  its  limits.  "  Know  thyself,"  says 
Proclus,  in  his  commentary  on  Plato's  First  Aldbiades,  "  that 
you  may  know  the  essence  from  whose  source  you  are  derived. 
Know  the  divinity  that  is  within  you,  that  you  may  know  the 
divine  One  of  which  your  soul  is  but  a  ray.  Know  your  own 
mind,  and  you  will  have  the  key  to  all  knowledge."  These  are 
not  the  words  of  Proclus,  but  they  convey  the  meaning  of  many 
pages  of  his  enthusiastic  dialectics. 

We  are  struck  in  Proclus  with  the  frank  and  decided  manner 
in  which  Metaphysics  is  assumed  to  be  the  only  possible  science ; 
we  are  struck  with  the  naive  manner  in  which  the  fundamental 
error  of  metaphysical  inquiry  is  laid  open  to  view,  and  presented 
as  an  absolute  truth.  In  no  other  ancient  system  is  it  stated  so 
nakedly.  If  we  desired  an  illustration  of  the  futility  of  meta 
physics  we  could  not  find  a  better  than  is  afforded  by  Proclus, 
who,  be  it  observed,  only  pushed  the  premises  of  others  to  their 
rigorous  conclusions. 

He  teaches  that  the  hierarchy  of  ideas,  in  which  there  is  a 


PKOCLUS.  335 

gradual  generation  from  the  most  abstract  to  the  most  concrete, 
exactly  corresponds  with  the  hierarchy  of  existences,  in  which 
there  is  a  constant  generation  from  the  most  abstract  (Unity)  to 
to  the  most  concrete  (phenomena) :  so  that  the  relations  which 
these  ideas  bear  to  each  other,  the  laws  which  subordinate  one 
to  the  other — in  a  word,  the  forms  of  the  nomenclature  of  human 
conceptions — express  the  real  causes,  their  action,  their  combina 
tions  ;  in  fact,  the  whole  system  of  the  universe.* 

This  is  frank.  The  objection  to  the  metaphysician  has  been 
that  he  looks  inwards  to  discover  that  which  lies  without  him, 
hoping,  in  his  own  conceptions  of  that  which  he  is  seeking  to 
know,  to  find  the  thing  he  seeks.  We  "  philosophers  of  the  Un 
derstanding"  aver  that  to  analyze  your  mind  is  to  learn  the 
nature  of  your  mind :  nothing  else.  Proclus  boldly  assumes 
that  to  know  the  nature  of  your  own  mind  is  to  know  the  whole 
universe.  This  is  at  least  consistent.  But  one  might  reasonably 
ask  how  this  knowledge  is  to  be  gained  ?  not  simply  by  looking 
inwards,  or  else  all  philosophers  would  have  gained  it ;  not  even 
by  meditation.  How  then  ?  Listen  : 

"  Mercury,  the  Messenger  of  Jove,  reveals  to  us  Jove's  paternal 
will,  and  thus  teaches  us  science ;  and,  as  the  author  of  all  in 
vestigation,  transmits  to  us,  his  disciples,  the  genius  of  invention. 
The  Science  which  descends  into  the  soul  from  above  is  more 
perfect  than  any  science  obtained  by  investigation ;  that  which 
is  excited  in  us  by  other  men  is  far  less  perfect.  Invention  is  the 
energy  of  the  soul.  The  Science  which  Descends  from  above  fills 
the  soul  with  the  influence  of  the  higher  Causes.  The  Gods  an 
nounce  it  to  us  by  their  presence  and  by  illuminations,  and  dis 
cover  to  us  the  order  of  the  universe." 

Of  course  the  Mystic  who  had  revelations  from  above,  dis 
pensed  with  the  ordinary  methods  of  investigation ;  and  here 
again  we  see  Proclus  consistent,  though  consistent  in  absurdity. 

*  This  is  also  the  doctrine  of  Hegel. 


CONCLUSION  OF  ANCIENT  PHILOSOPHY. 

WITH  Proclus  the  Alexandrian  School  expired  ;  with  him 
Philosophy  ceased.  Religion,  and  Religion  only,  seemed  capa 
ble  of  affording  satisfactory  answers  to  the  questions  which  per 
plexed  the  human  race,  and  Philosophy  was  reduced  to  the 
subordinate  office  which  the  Alexandrians  had  consigned  to  the 
Aristotelian  Logic.  Philosophy  became  the  servant  of  Religion, 
no  longer  reigning  in  its  own  right. 

Thus  was  the  circle  of  endeavor  completed.  With  Thales, 
Reason  separated  itself  from  Faith ;  with  the  Alexandrians,  the 
two  were  again  united.  The  centuries  between  these  epochs 
were  filled  with  helpless  struggles  to  overcome  an  insuperable 
difficulty. 

The  difference  is  great  between  the  childlike  question  of  the 
Ionian  thinker,  and  the  naive  extravagance  of  the  Alexandrian 
Mystic  :  and  yet  each,  stands  upon  the  same  ground,  and  looks 
out  upon  the  same  troubled  sea,  hoping  to  detect  a  shore,  igno 
rant  that  all  philosophy 

"  is  an  arch  where  through 

Gleams  that  untravelled  world,  whose  margin  fades 
Forever  and  forever  as  we  move." 

But,  to  the  reflective  student  who  thus  sees  these  men,  after  cen 
turies  of  endeavor,  fixed  on  the  self-same  spot,  the  Alexandrian 
straining  his  eager  eyes  after  the  same  object  as  the  Ionian,  and 
neither  within  the  possible  range  of  vision,  there  is  something 
which  would  be  unutterably  sad,  were  it  not  corrected  by  the 
conviction  that  these  men  were  fixed  to  one  spot,  because  they 
had  not  discovered  the  only  true  pathway,  a  pathway  which  those 
who  came  after  them  securely  trod. 

Still,  the  spectacle  of  human  failure,  especially  on  so  gigantic 


CONCLUSION    OF    ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY.  337 

a  scale,  cannot  be  without  some  pain.  So  many  hopes  thwarted, 
so  many  great  intellects  wandering-  in  error,  are  not  to  be  thought 
of  without  sadness.  But  it  bears  a  lesson  which  we  hope  those 
who  have  followed  us  thus  far  will  not  fail  to  read  :  a  lesson  on 
the  vanity  of  Philosophy ;  a  lesson  which  almost  amounts  to  a 
demonstration  of  the  impossibility  of  the  human  mind  ever  com 
passing  those  exalted  objects  which  its  speculative  ingenuity  sug 
gests  as  worthy  of  its  pursuit.  It  points  to  that  profound  remark 
of  Auguste  Comte,  that  there  exists  in  all  classes  of  our  investi 
gations  a  constant  and  necessary  harmony  between  the  extent 
of  our  real  intellectual  wants,  and  the  efficient  extent,  actual  or 
future,  of  our  real  knowledge. 

But  these  great  Thinkers,  whose  failures  we  have  chronicled, 
did  not  live  in  vain.  They  left  the  great  problems  where  they 
found  them  :  but  they  did  not  leave  Humanity  as  they  found  it. 
Metaphysics  might  be  still  a  region  of  doubt ;  but  the  human 
mind,  in  its  endeavors  to  explore  that  region,  had  learnt  in  some 
measure  to  ascertain  its  weakness  and  its  force.  Greek  Philoso 
phy  was  a  failure  ;  but  Greek  Inquiry  had  immense  results. 
Methods  had  been  tried  and  discarded  ;  but  great  preparations 
for  the  real  Method  had  been  made. 

Moreover,  Ethics  had  become  elevated  to  the  rank  of  a  science. 
In  the  Pagan  Religion  morality  consisted  in  obeying  the  particu 
lar  Gods  :  to  propitiate  their  favor  was  the  only  needful  art. 
Greek  Philosophy  opened  men's  eyes  to  the  importance  of  hu 
man  conduct — to  the  importance  of  moral  principles,  which  were 
to  stand  in  the  place  of  propitiations.  The  great  merit  of  this 
is  due  to  Socrates.  He  objected  to  propitiation  as  impious :  he 
insisted  upon  moral  conduct  as  alone  guiding  man  to  happiness 
here  and  hereafter. 

But  the  Ethics  of  the  Greeks  were  at  the  best  narrow  and 
egoistical.  Morality,  however  exalted  or  comprehensive,  only 
seemed  to  embrace  the  individual  •  it  was  extremely  incomplete 
as  regards  the  family ;  and  had  scarcely  any  suspicion  of  what 
we  call  social  relations.  No  Greek  ever  attained  the  sublimity 

15 


338  CONCLUSION    OF    ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY. 

of  such  a  point  of  view.  The  highest  point  he  could  attain  was 
to  conduct  himself  according  to  just  principles ;  he  never  troubled 
himself  with  others.  By  the  introduction  of  Christianity,  Ethics 
became  Social,  as  well  as  Individual. 

So  far  advanced  are  we  in  the  right  direction — so  earnestly 
are  we  engaged  in  the  endeavor  to  perfect  Social  as  well  as  In 
dividual  Ethics — that  we  are  apt  to  look  down  upon  the  progress 
of  the  Greeks  as  trivial ;  but  it  was  immense,  and  in  the  history 
of  Humanity  must  ever  occupy  an  honorable  place. 

Ancient  Philosophy  expired  with  Proclus.  Those  who  came 
after  him,  although  styling  themselves  philosophers,  were  in 
truth  Religious  Thinkers  employing  philosophical  formula?.  No 
one  endeavored  to  give  a  solution  of  the  three  great  problems : 
Whence  came  the  world  ?  What  is  the  nature  of  God  ?  What 
is  the  nature  of  human  knowledge  ?  Argue,  refine,  divide,  and 
subdivide  as  they  would,  the  Religious  Thinkers  only  used  Phi 
losophy  as  a  subsidiary  process :  for  all  the  great  problems,  Faith 
was  their  only  instrument. 

The  succeeding  Epochs  are  usually  styled  the  Epochs  of  Chris 
tian  Philosophy ;  yet  Christian  Philosophy  is  a  misnomer.  A 
Christian  may  be  also  a  Philosopher;  but  to  talk  of  Christian 
Philosophy  is  an  abuse  of  language.  Christian  Philosophy 
means  Christian  Metaphysics;  and  that  means  the  solution  of 
metaphysical  problems  upon  Christian  principles.  Now  what 
are  Christian  Principles  but  the  Doctrines  revealed  through  Christ ; 
revealed  because  inaccessible  to  Reason ;  revealed  and  accepted 
by  Faith,  because  Reason  is  utterly  incompetent? 

So  that  metaphysical  problems,  the  attempted  solution  of 
which  by  Reason  constitutes  Philosophy,  are  solved  by  Faith, 
and  yet  the  name  of  Philosophy  is  retained !  But  the  very  es 
sence  of  Philosophy  consists  in  reasoning,  as  the  essence  of  Re 
ligion  is  Faith.  There  cannot,  consequently,  be  a  Religious  Phi 
losophy  :  it  is  a  contradiction  in  terms.  Philosophy  may  be 
occupied  about  the  same  problems  as  Religion ;  but  it  employs 
altogether  different  Methods,  and  depends  on  altogether  different 


CONCLUSION    OF    ANCIENT    PHILOSOPHY.  339 

principles.  Religion  may,  and  should,  call  in  Philosophy  to  its 
aid  ;  but  in  so  doing  it  assigns  to  Philosophy  only  the  subordinate 
office  of  illustrating,  reconciling,  or  applying  its  dogmas.  This 
is  not  a  Religious  Philosophy;  it  is  Religion  and  Philosophy, 
the  latter  stripped  of  its  boasted  prerogative  of  deciding  for  itself, 
and  allowed  only  to  employ  itself  in  reconciling  the  decisions  of 
Religion  and  of  Reason. 

From  these  remarks  it  is  obvious  that  our  History,  being  a 
narrative  of  the  progress  of  Philosophy  only,  will  not  include 
any  detailed  account  of  the  so-called  Christian  Philosophy,  be 
cause  that  is  a  subject  strictly  belonging  to  the  History  of  Re 
ligion. 

Once  more  we  are  to  witness  the  mighty  struggle  and  the  sad 
defeat ;  once  more  we  are  to  watch  the  progress  and  develop 
ment  of  that  vast  but  ineffectual  attempt  which  the  sublime 
audacity  of  man  has  for  centuries  renewed.  Great  intellects  and 
great  hopes  are  once  more  to  be  reviewed ;  and  the  traces  noted 
which  they  have  left  upon  that  Desert  whose  only  semblance  of 
vegetation  is  a  mirage, — the  Desert  without  fruit,  without  flower, 
without  habitation :  arid,  trackless,  and  silent,  but  vast,  awful, 
and  fascinating.  To  trace  the  footsteps  of  the  wanderers — to  fol 
low  them  on  their  gigantic  journeys — to  point  again  the  moral  of 

"  Poor  Humanity's  afflicted  will 
Struggling  in  vain  with  ruthless  destiny," 

to  bring  home  to  the  convictions  of  men  the  humble,  useful 
truth  that 

"  Wisdom  is  ofttimes  nearer  when  we  stoop, 
Than  when  we  soar," 

will  be  the  object  of  our  SECOND  PART. 


PART   II. 

MODERN  PHILOSOPHY. 


TRANSITION  PERIOD. 
FKOM   PKOCLUS   TO   BACON. 

§  I.  SCHOLASTICISM. 

ALTHOUGH  Modern  Philosophy,  rigorously  defined,  commences 
with  Bacon  and  Descartes,  from  whom  a  distinct  development  is 
traceable,  such  as  the  purpose  of  this  History  requires,  we  must 
not  pass  from  Proclus  to  Bacon  without  at  least  a  rapid  glance 
at  the  course  of  speculative  activity  during  the  intervening  twelve 
centuries.  Mediaeval  Philosophy  has  been  much  decried  and 
much  exalted,  but  very  little  studied.  So  vast  a  subject  demands 
a  patience  and  erudition  few  can  bring  to  it.  Fortunately  for 
me,  whose  knowledge  of  Scholasticism  is  limited  to  a  superficial 
acquaintance  with  some  of  the  works  of  Aquinas,  Abelard,  and 
Averroes,  the  nature  of  this  History  excludes  any  detailed  exam 
ination  of  mediaeval  speculations.  Consulting  my  own  resources 
and  the  reader's  interest,  I  find  that  the  whole  career  of  philo 
sophic  inquiry,  from  Proclus  to  Bacon,  can  be  presented  in  three 
typical  figures :  namely,  ABELARD,  as  representing  Scholasticism  ; 
ALGAZZALI,  as  representing  Arabian  philosophy ;  and  GIORDANO 
BRUNO,  as  representing  the  philosophic  struggle  which  overthrew 
the  authority  of  Aristotle  and  the  Church.  These  three  thinkers 
I  have  studied  more  or  less  in  their  own  writings ;  and  the 
reader  will  understand,  therefore,  that  the  following  sketch  is 
wholly  drawn  from  second-hand  knowledge  in  all  but  these  three 
instances. 

With  the  Alexandrians,  Philosophy,  as  we  have  seen,  became 
absorbed  in  Religion.  The  Alexandrians  were  succeeded  by  the 
Christian  Fathers,  who  of  course  made  Philosophy  the  handmaid 


344:  FKOM    PEOCLUS    TO    BACON. 

to  Religion — ancilla  Theologies.  The  whole  philosophic  effort 
was  to  mediate  between  the  dogmas  of  faith  and  the  demands  of 
reason.  Scholasticism  derives  its  name  from  the  schools  opened 
by  Charlemagne  for  the  prosecution  of  speculative  studies,  which 
were  only  prosecuted  in  those  days  by  the  clergy,  they  alone 
Laving  leisure  or  inclination  for  such  work.  Thus  did  the  Mon- 

O 

asteries  form  the  cradle  of  Modern  Philosophy.* 

As  far  as  we  can  separate  the  philosophic  from  the  theological 
element,  it  displays  itself  in  three  capital  manifestations :  1st,  The 
debate  on  Universals  ;  2d,  The  influence  of  the  Arabians,  espe 
cially  in  their  introduction  of  the  works  of  Aristotle ;  and  3d, 
The  rebellion  against  Aristotle  and  all  other  authority,  in  the 
proclamation  of  the  independence  of  Reason. 

There  was  no  separation  at  all  until  the  ninth  century,  when, 
in  the  person  of  Scotus  Erigena,  Philosophy  timidly  claimed  its 
privilege.  And  even  Scotus  Erigena  said,  "  There  are  not  two 
studies,  one  of  philosophy  and  one  of  religion ;  true  philosophy 
is  true  religion,  and  true  religion  is  true  philosophy."  In  the 
eleventh  century  appeared  Roscellinus,  who,  in  advocating  the 
philosophic  doctrine  of  Nominalism,  not  only  separated  Philos 
ophy  from  Religion,  but  placed  it  in  direct  antagonism  with  the 
fundamental  dogma  of  the  Trinity.  To  understand  this  we  must 
remember  that  in  those  days  there  was  a  profound  and  even 
servile  submission  to  the  double  authority  of  the  Church  and  the 
Greek  Philosophers, — a  submission  necessarily  resulting  from  the 
teaching  of  the  Fathers,  who  always  combined  the  two.  The 
works  of  Greek  Philosophers  were,  however,  but  scantily  known 
through  Latin  translations  and  commentaries  ;  but  this  perhaps 
increased  the  eagerness  to  know  them  ;  and  thus  all  doctrine  be- 


*  Victor  Cousin,  Hist,  de  la  Phil.  \\.  9eme  Lecjon.  The  various  historians 
of  Philosophy,  especially  Ritter  and  Tennemann,  should  be  consulted ;  but 
the  clearest  and  most  readable  work  known  to  me  is  M.  Rousselot's  Etudes 
sur  la  P/tilosophie  dans  le  Moyen  Age,  3  vols.  8vo.  Paris,  1840.  M.  Remusat's 
Abelard,  2  vols.  Paris,  1845,  by  its  analysis  of  Abelard's  works,  gives  also  a 
very  good  idea  of  Scholastic  speculation. 


SCHOLASTICISM.  345 

came,  in  fact,  erudition.  To  interpret  Aristotle  was  to  establish 
philosophy.  It  is  a  common  error  to  suppose  that  Aristotle  at 
once  and  always  reigned  despotically  over  the  philosophy  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  As  M.  Rousselot*  remarks,  there  were  two  dis 
tinct  characters  in  Aristotle  then  accepted  :  there  was  first  the 
Logician,  whose  word  was  law, — magister  dixit, — whose  Organon 
was  the  Bible  of  the  schools, — whose  authority  no  one  thought 
of  questioning ;  and  there  was  also  the  Metaphysician,  who,  so 
far  from  receiving  the  worship  offered  to  the  Logician,  was  per 
secuted,  excommunicated,  and  burned,  because  his  metaphysical 
doctrine  was  thought  to  contain  the  fatal  heresy  of  the  unity  of 
substance.f  It  was  not  until  after  Abelard,  and  owing  to  the 
Arabian  influence,  that  Aristotle  passed — to  use  M.  Remusat's 
happy  phrase — from  the  consulship  to  the  dictatorship  of  Phi 
losophy/^ 

Plato  taught  Realism.  He  maintained  the  existence  of  Ab 
stract  Ideas,  as  Objects  or  Substances.  Aristotle,  on  the  con 
trary,  taught  that  Abstract  Ideas  were  nothing  but  abstractions ; 
general  names,  not  general  things.  Early  Scholasticism  adopted 
Realism  ;  and  when  Roscellinus  by  subtle  argumentation  proved 
that  genera  and  species  were  nothing  more  than  logical  construc 
tions,  general  terms,  flatus  vocis,  without  corresponding  essences, 
it  was  soon  evident  that  he  was  in  antagonism  with  the  dogma 
of  the  Trinity.  "That  Universal  which  you  call  Trinity  cannot 
exist ;  and  as  the  relations  which  unite  these  three  divine  persons 
do  not  exist,  the  Trinity  cannot  exist.  There  is  either  one  God 
or  three ;  if  there  is  but  one,  he  exists  in  a  single  person ;  if 
there  are  three,  there  are  three  beings  separate,  distinct." 

The  consequence  of  such  heresy  may  be  foreseen.  Roscellinus 
was  summoned  before  the  Council  of  Soissons,  and  there  forced 


*  Etudes  sur  la  Philos.  i.  173. 

t  Jourdain,  in  his  erudite  work,  Kecherches  sur  Vage  et  Vorigine  des  Tra- 
ductions  cVAristote,  has  placed  this  condemnation  of  Aristotle  beyond  a 
doubt. 

I  Abelard,  i.  aid. 

15* 


34:6  FROM   PROCLUS   TO   BACON. 

publicly  to  recant.  He  escaped  to  England,  and  perished  in 
exile ;  but  the  seed  he  had  sown  fructified,  and  Nominalism  after 
wards  became  the  reigning  doctrine.  The  amount  of  verbal 
quibbling  and  idle  distinctions  employed  on  this  famous  question 
is  only  greater  than  that  employed  on  other  questions,  because  of 
its  greater  importance.  No  one  can  form  an  adequate  idea  of 
the  frivolity  and  wearisome  prolixity  of  these  Schoolmen  without 
opening  one  of  their  books;  and  even  after  having  done  so,  it 
will  remain  incomprehensible  how  sane  and  earnest  intellects 
could  have  contented  themselves  with  such  grinding  of  the  air 
in  metaphysic  mills,  unless  we  understand  the  error  which  mis 
led  them.  The  error  was  in  mistaking  logical  constructions  for 
truths,  believing  ideas  to  be  the  correlates  of  things,  so  that 
whatever  was  discernible  in  the  mental  combination  was  neces 
sarily  true  of  external  facts.  The  Schoolmen  analyzed  the  ele 
ments  of  speech  and  thought  with  the  pertinacious  eagerness  now 
employed  by  chemists  in  analyzing  the  elements  of  bodies.  This 
error  is  the  fundamental  error,  principium  et  fons,  of  all  meta 
physical  speculation ;  and  with  an  ill  grace  do  metaphysicians 
ridicule  the  follies  of  the  Schoolmen,  who  only  carried  to  excess 
the  metaphysical  Method  of  unverified  Deduction.  It  may  be 
true  that  Scholastic  philosophy  was  for  the  most  part  a  dispute 
about  words,  but  it  is  not  for  metaphysicians  to  cast  the  re 
proach  ;  and  the  defenders  of  Scholasticism  have  an  easy  task 
when  they  undertake  to  show  that  beneath  these  verbal  disputes 
lay  the  deepest  problems  of  Ontology. 

§  II.  LIFE  OF  ABELARD. 

The  name  of  Abelard  has  been  immortalized  by  association 
with  that  of  a  noble  woman.  It  is  because  Heloise  loved  him, 
that  posterity  feels  interested  in  him.  M.  Michelet  indeed  thinks 
that  to  Abelard  she  owes  her  fame :  "  without  his  misfortunes 
she  would  have  remained  obscure,  unheard  of;"  and  in  one  sense 
this  is  true ;  but  true  it  also  is  that,  without  her  love,  Abelard 
would  have  long  ago  ceased  to  inspire  any  interest ;  for  his  was 


LIFE   OF   ABELAKD.  347 

essentially  a  shallow,  selfish  nature.  His  popularity  was  rapid, 
loud,  and  scandalous.  He  was  fitted  for  it,  lived  for  it.  But 
many  a  greater  name  has  faded  from  the  memories  of  men ; 
many  a  once  noisy  reputation  fails  to  awaken  a  single  echo  in 
posterity.  Apart  from  the  consecration  of  passion  and  misfor 
tune,  there  is  little  in  his  life  to  excite  our  sympathy.  Viewed 
in  connection  with  Heloise  he  must  always  interest  us ;  viewed 
away  from  her,  he  presents  the  figure  of  a  quick,  vivacious,  un 
scrupulous,  intensely  vain  Frenchman.  But,  in  several  respects, 
he  represents  the  philosophic  struggle  of  the  twelfth  century ;  and 
in  this  light  we  may  consider  him. 

He  was  born  in  Brittany  in  1079,  of  a  noble  family,  named 
Berenger.  The  name  of  Abelard  came  to  him  later.  His  mas 
ter  laughingly  noticed  his  superficial  manner  of  passing  over 
some  studies,  filled  as  he  was  with  others,  and  said,  "  When  a 
dog  is  well  filled,  he  can  do  no  more  than  lick  the  bacon."  The 
word  to  lick,  in  the  corrupt  Latin  of  that  day,  was  bajare,  and 
Bajolardus  became  the  cognomen  of  this  "  bacon-licking  student" 
among  his  comrades,  which  he  converted  into  Hdbelardus,  "  se 
vantant  ainsi  de  posseder  ce  qu'on  1'accusait  de  ne  pouvoir  pren- 
dre."*  In  the  ancient  writers  the  name  is  variously  spelled,  as 
Abailardus,  Abaielardus,  Abaulardus,  Abbajalarius,  Baalaurdus, 
Belardus,  and  in  French  as  Abeillard,  Abayelard,  Abalard,  Abau- 
lard,  Abaalary,  Allebart,  Abulard,  Beillard,  Baillard,  Balard,  and 
even  Esbaillart;  which  variations  seem  to  imply  that  the  old 
French  writers  were  as  accurate  in  their  spelling  of  proper  names 
as  their  descendants  are  in  their  use  of  English  and  German 
names. 

Abelard's  father  joined  to  his  knightly  accomplishments  a  taste 
for  literature,  as  literature  was  then  understood ;  and  this  taste 


*  Abelard,  par  M.  Charles  de  Kemusat,  Paris  1845,  p.  13.  This  valuable 
monograph  contains  the  fullest  biography  of  Abelard  and  the  best  analysis 
of  his  works  yet  published.  Indeed,  before  M.  Cousin  published  the  works 
of  Abelard,  in  1836,  every  account  of  the  philosophy  of  this  thinker  was  ne 
cessarily  meagre  and  erroneous. 


348  FROM  PROCLUS  TO  BACON. 

became  so  dominant  in  the  mind  of  the  youth,  that  he  renounced 
the  career  of  arms  altogether  for  that  of  learning.  Dialectics 
was  the  great  science  of  that  day,  almost  rivalling  in  importance 
the  Theology  which  it  served  and  disturbed  by  turns.  It  was 
an  exercise  of  intellectual  ingenuity,  for  which  this  youth  mani 
fested  surprising  aptitude.  He  travelled  through  various  prov 
inces  disputing  with  all  comers,  like  a  knight-errant  of  philoso 
phy,  urged  thereto  by  the  goading  desire  of  notoriety.  This 
love  of  notoriety  was  his  curse  through  life.  At  the  age  of 
twenty  he  came  to  Paris,  hoping  there  to  find  a  fitting  opportu 
nity  of  display — an  arena  for  his  powers  as  a  disputant.  He  at 
tended  the  lectures  of  William  de  Champeaux,  the  most  re 
nowned  master  of  disputation,  to  whom  students  flocked  from 
all  the  cities  of  Europe.  The  new  pupil  soon  excited  attention. 
The  beauty  of  his  person,  the  easy  grace  of  his  manner,  his  mar 
vellous  aptitude  for  learning,  and  still  more  marvellous  facility  of 
expression,  soon  distinguished  him  from  the  rest.  The  master 
grew  proud  of  his  pupil,  loved  him  through  his  pride,  and 
doubtless  looked  on  him  as  a  successor.  But  it  soon  became 
evident  that  the  pupil,  so  quick  at  learning,  did  not  sit  there 
merely  to  learn ;  he  was  waiting  for  some  good  opportunity  of 
display,  waiting  to  attack  his  venerable  master,  whose  secret 
strength  and  weakness  he  had  discovered.  The  opportunity 
came ;  he  rose  up,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  the  students  provoked 
William  de  Champeaux  to  discussion,  harassed,  and  finally  van 
quished  him.  llage  and  astonishment  agitated  the  students; 
rage  and  terror  the  master.  The  students  were  indignant  be 
cause  they  clearly  saw  Abelard's  motive. 

Abelard  dates  the  origin  of  all  his  woes  from  this  occasion, 
when  he  created  enmities  which  pursued  him  through  life ;  and, 
with  a  sophistication  common  to  such  natures,  he  attributes  the 
enmities  to  envy  at  his  ability,  instead  of  to  the  real  causes, 
namely,  his  inordinate  vanity  and  selfishness.  For  a  time,  indeed, 
the  rupture  with  his  master  seemed  successful.  Although  only 
two-and-twenty  years  of  age,  he  established  a  school  of  Philos- 


LIFE   OF   ABELARD.  34:9 

ophy  at  Melun,  which  became  numerously  attended,  and  spread 
his  name  far  and  wide.  Emboldened  by  success,  he  removed 
his  school  still  nearer  to  Paris — to  Corbeil — in  order,  as  he 
frankly  tells  us,  that  he  might  be  more  importunate  to  his  old 
master.  But  his  rival  was  still  powerful,  aged  in  science  and 
respect.  Intense  application  was  necessary,  and  in  the  struggle 
Abelard's  overtasked  energies  gave  way.  He  was  commanded 
by  the  physicians  to  shut  up  his  school,  and  retire  into  the  coun 
try  for  repose  and  fresh  air. 

In  two  years  he  returned  to  Paris,  and  saw  with  delight  that 
his  reputation  had  not  been  weakened  by  absence,  but  that  on  the 
contrary  his  scholars  were  more  eager  than  ever.  His  old  an 
tagonist,  William  de  Champeaux,  had  renounced  the  world,  and 
retired  to  a  cloister,  where  he  opened  the  school  of  Saint  Victor, 
afterwards  so  celebrated.  His  great  reputation,  although  suffer 
ing  from  Abelard's  attacks,  drew  crowds.  One  day,  when  the 
audience  was  most  numerous,  he  was  startled  by  the  appearance 
of  Abelard  among  the  students,  come,  as  he  said,  to  learn  rhet 
oric.  William  was  troubled,  but  continued  his  lecture.  Abe- 
lard  was  silent  until  the  question  of  "  Universals"  was  brought 
forward,  and  then  suddenly  changing  from  a  disciple  to  an  antag 
onist,  he  harassed  the  old  man  with  such  rapidity  and  unexpect 
edness  of  assault,  that  William  confessed  himself  defeated,  and 
retracted  his  opinion.  That  retractation  was  the  death  of  his  in 
fluence.  His  audience  rapidly  dwindled.  No  one  would  listen 
to  the  minor  points  of  Dialectics  from  one  who  confessed  himself 
beaten  on  the  cardinal  point  of  all.  The  disciples  passed  over 
to  the  victor.  When  the  combat  is  fierce  between  two  lordly 
stags,  the  hinds  stand  quietly  by,  watching  the  issue  of  the  con 
test,  and  if  their  former  lord  and  master,  once  followed  and  re 
spected,  is  worsted,  they  all  without  hesitation  pass  over  to  the 
conqueror,  and  henceforth  follow  him.  Abelard's  school  became 
acknowledged  as  pre-eminent;  and,  as  if  to  give  his  triumph 
greater  emphasis,  the  professor  to  whom  William  de  Champeaux 
had  resigned  his  chair,  was  either  so  intimidated  by  Abelard's 


350  FROM  PEOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

audacity,  or  so  subjugated  by  his  ability,  that  he  offered  his  chair 
to  Abelard,  and  ranged  himself  among  the  disciples. 

Abelard  was  not  content  even  with  this  victory.  Although 
undisputed  master  in  Dialectics,  he  could  not  hear  of  any  other 
teacher  without  envy.  A  certain  Anselm  taught  Theology  at 
Laon  with  immense  success;  and  this  was  enough  to  trouble 
Abelard's  repose ;  accordingly  to  Laon  he  went,  ridiculed  An- 
selm's  style,  laughed  at  the  puerile  admiration  of  the  scholars, 
and  offered  to  surpass  the  master  in  the  explanation  of  Scripture. 
The  scholars  first  laughed,  then  listened,  and  admired.  Abelard 
departed,  having  excited  anarchy  in  the  school,  and  anguish  in 
the  heart  of  the  old  man. 

His  career,  at  this  period,  was  brilliant.  His  reputation  had 
risen  above  that  of  every  living  man.  His  eloquence  and  sub 
tlety  charmed  hundreds  of  serious  students,  who  thronged  be 
neath  the  shadows  of  the  Cathedral  in  ceaseless  disputation, 
thinking  more  of  success  in  dispute  than  of  the  truths  involved. 
M.  Guizot  estimates  these  students  at  not  less  than  five  thousand 
— of  course  not  all  at  the  same  time.  Amidst  these  crowds, 
Abelard  might  be  seen  moving  with  imposing  haughtiness  of 
carriage,  not  without  the  careless  indolence  which  success  had 
given  ;  handsome,  manly,  gallant-looking,  the  object  of  incessant 
admiration.  His  songs  were  sung  in  the  streets,  his  arguments 
were  repeated  in  cloisters.  The  multitude  reverentially  made 
way  for  him,  as  he  passed ;  and  from  behind  their  window-cur 
tains  peeped  the  curious  eyes  of  women.  His  name  was  carried 
to  every  city  in  Europe.  The  Pope  sent  hearers  to  him.  He 
reigned,  and  he  reigned  alone.* 

It  was  at  this  period  that  the  charms  and  helpless  position  of 
Heloise  attracted  his  vanity  and  selfishness.  He  resolved  to  se 
duce  her ;  resolved  it,  as  he  confesses,  after  mature  deliberation. 
He  thought  she  would  be  an  easy  victim  ;  and  he  who  had  lived 


*  "  Cum  jam  me  solum  in  mundo  superesse  philosophum  sestimarem." — 
Epist.  i.  p.  9. 


LIFE    OF   ABELARD.  351 

in  abhorrence  of  libertinage — scortorum  immunditiam  semper  ab- 
horrelam — felt  that  he  had  now  attained  such  a  position  that  he 
might  indulge  himself  with  impunity.  We  are  not  here  attrib 
uting  hypothetic  scoundrelism  to  Abelard ;  we  are  but  repeat 
ing  his  own  statements.  "I  thought,  too,"  he  adds,  "that  I 
should  the  more  easily  gain  the  girl's  consent,  knowing  as  I  did 
to  how  great  a  degree  she  both  possessed  learning  and  loved  it." 
He  tells  us  how  he  "  sought  an  opportunity  of  bringing  her  into 
familiar  and  daily  intercourse  with  me,  and  so  drawing  her  the 
more  easily  to  consent  to  my  wishes.  With  this  view  I  made  a 
proposal  to  her  uncle,  through  certain  of  his  friends,  that  he 
should  receive  me  as  an  inmate  of  his  house,  which  was  very  near 
to  my  school,  on  whatever  terms  of  remuneration  he  chose  ; 
alleging  as  my  reason  that  I  found  the  care  of  a  household  an 
impediment  to  study,  and  its  expense  too  burdensome."  The 
uncle,  Fulbert,  was  prompted  by  avarice,  and  the  prospect  of 
gaining  instruction  for  his  niece,  to  consent.  He  committed  her 
entirely  to  Abelard's  charge,  "in  order  that  whenever  I  should 
be  at  leisure  from  the  school,  whether  by  day  or  by  night,  I 
might  take  the  trouble  of  instructing  her;  and  should  I  find  her 
negligent,  use  forcible  compulsion.  Hereupon  I  wondered  at 
the  man's  excessive  simplicity,  with  no  less  amazement  than  if  I 
had  beheld  him  intrust  a  lamb  to  the  care  of  a  famishing  wolf; 
for  in  thus  placing  the  girl  in  my  hands  for  me  not  only  to  teach, 
but  to  use  forcible  coercion,  what  did  he  do  but  give  full  liberty 
to  my  desires,  and  offer  the  opportunity,  even  had  it  not  been 
sought,  seeing  that,  should  enticement  fail,  I  might  use  threats 
and  stripes  in  order  to  subdue  her  ?"* 

The  crude  brutality  of  this  confession  would  induce  us  to 
suppose  it  was  a  specimen  of  that  strange  illusion  which  often 
makes  reflective  and  analytic  minds  believe  that  their  enthusiasms 
and  passions  were  calculations,  had  we  not  sufficient  evidence, 
throughout  Abelard's  life,  of  his  intense  selfishness  and  voracious 

*  See  Epist.  i. 


352  FKOM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

vanity.  Whatever  the  motive,  the  incident  is  curious  ;  history 
has  no  other  such  example  of  passionate  devotion  filling  the  mind 
of  a  woman  for  a  dialectician.  It  was  dialectics  he  taught  her ; 
since  he  could  teach  her  nothing  else.  She  was  a  much  better 
scholar  than  he  ;  in  many  respects  better  read.  She  was  perfect 
mistress  of  Latin,  and  knew  enough  Greek  and  Hebrew  to  form 
the  basis  of  her  future  proficiency.  He  knew  nothing  of  Greek 
or  Hebrew,  although  all  his  biographers,  except  M.  Remusat,  as 
sume  that  he  knew  them  both  ;  M.  Michelet,  even  asserting  that 
he  was  the  only  man  who  did  then  know  them.*  In  the  study 
of  arid  dialectics,  then,  must  we  imagine  Abelard  and  Heloise 
thrown  together ;  and,  in  the  daily  communion  of  their  minds, 
passion  ripened,  steeped  in  that  vague,  dream-like,  but  intense 
delight,  produced  by  the  contact  of  great  intelligences ;  and  thus, 
as  the  Spanish  translator  of  her  letters  says,  "  buscando  siempre 
con  pretexto  del  estudio  los  parages  mas  retirados" — they  sought 
in  the  still  air  and  countenance  of  delightful  studies  a  solitude 
more  exquisite  than  any  society.  "  The  books  were  open  before 
us,"  says  Abelard,  "  but  we  talked  more  of  love  than  philosophy, 
and  kisses  were  more  frequent  than  sentences."! 

In  spite  of  the  prudential  necessity  for  keeping  this  intrigue 
secret,  Abelard's  truly  French  vanity  overcame  his  prudence. 
He  had  written  love-songs  to  Heloise ;  and  with  the  egotism  of 
a  bad  poet  and  indelicate  lover,  he  was  anxious  for  these  songs 
to  be  read  by  other  eyes  besides  those  for  whom  they  were  com 
posed  ;  anxious  that  other  men  should  know  his  conquest.  His 

*  He  knew  a  few  terms  current  in  the  theological  literature  of  the  day,  but 
had  he  known  more,  his  ostentatious  vanity  would  have  exhibited  the  knowl 
edge  on  all  occasions.  He  expressly  declares,  moreover,  that  he  was  forced 
to  read  Greek  authors  in  Latin  versions.  See  Cousin's  edition  of  the  (Euvres 
Inedites,  p.  43  ;  also  Dialectica,  p.  200,  where  the  non-existence  of  Latin  ver 
sions  is  given  as  the  reason  of  his  ignorance  of  what  Aristotle  says  in  his 
Physics  and  Metaphysics. 

t  Epist.  i.  p.  11.  He  adds,  with  his  usual  crudity:  "  Et  ssepius  ad  sinus 
quam  ad  libros  reducebantur  manus."  Madame  Guizot  excellently  indicates 
the  distinction  between  his  sensual  descriptions  and  the  chaster,  though 
more  passionate,  language  of  Heloise:  "  die  rappette,  mais  ne  detaille  point" 


LIFE   OF   ABELAKD.  353 

songs  were  soon  bandied  about  the  streets.  All  Paris  was  in 
the  secret  of  his  intrigue.  That  which  a  delicate  lover,  out  of 
delicacy,  and  a  sensible  lover,  out  of  prudence,  would  have  hid 
den  from  the  world,  this  coxcomb  suffered  to  be  profaned  by 
being  bawled  from  idle  and  indifferent  mouths.* 

At  length  even  Fulbert  became  aware  of  what  was  passing 
under  his  roof.  A  separation  took  place ;  but  the  lovers  contin 
ued  to  meet  in  secret.  Heloise  soon  found  herself  pregnant,  and 
Abelard  arranged  for  her  an  escape  to  Brittany,  where  she  resided 
with  his  sister,  and  gave  birth  to  a  son.  When  Fulbert  heard  of 
her  flight,  he  was  frantic  with  rage.  Abelard  came  cringing  to 
him,  imploring  pardon,  recalling  to  him  how  the  greatest  men 
had  been  cast  down  by  women,  accused  himself  of  treachery,  and 
offered  the  reparation  of  marriage  provided  it  were  kept  secret ; 
because  his  marriage,  if  made  known,  would  be  an  obstacle  to 
his  rising  in  the  Church,  and  the  mitre  already  glimmered  before 
his  ambitious  eyes.  Fulbert  consented.  But  Heloise,  with 
womanly  self-abnegation,  would  not  consent.  She  would  not 
rob  the  world  of  its  greatest  luminary.  "  I  should  hate  this  mar 
riage,"  she  exclaimed,  "  because  it  would  be  an  opprobrium  and 
a  calamity."  She  recalled  to  Abelard  various  passages  in  Scrip 
ture  and  ancient  writers,  in  which  wives  are  accursed,  pointing 
out  to  him  how  impossible  it  would  be  for  him  to  consecrate 
himself  to  philosophy  unless  he  were  free  ;  how  could  he  study 
amid  the  noises  of  children  and  domestic  troubles  of  a  house 
hold  ?  how  much  more  honorable  it  would  be  for  her  to  sacrifice 
herself  to  him !  She  would  be  his  concubine.  The  more  she 
humiliated  herself  for  him,  the  greater  would  be  her  claims  upon 
his  love ;  and  thus  she  would  be  no  obstacle  to  his  advancement, 
no  impediment  to  the  free  development  of  his  genius. 

*  That  this  vanity  and  indelicacy  are  eminently  French,  though  unhappily 
not  exclusively  French,  will  be  admitted  by  all  who  are  conversant  with  the 
life  and  literature  of  that  remarkable  people.  It  had  not  escaped  the  pier 
cing  gaze  and  healthy  instincts  of  Moliere,  who  has  an  admirable  passage  on 
this  national  peculiarity:  see  Arnolphe's  monologue,  act.  iii.  scene  iii.  of 
L 'jEcole  des  Femmes. 


* 

354:  FROM    PROCLUS    TO    BACON. 

"I  call  God  to  witness,"  she  wrote  many  years  afterwards, 
"  that  if  Augustus,  the  emperor  of  the  world,  had  deemed  me 
worthy  of  his  hand,  and  would  have  given  me  the  universe  for  a 
throne,  the  name  of  your  concubine  would  have  been  more  glori 
ous  to  me  than  that  of  his  empress :  carius  mihi  et  dignius  vide- 
retur  tua  did  meretrix  quam  illius  imperatrix" 

Gladly  would  Abelard  have  profited  by  this  sublime  passion  ; 
but  he  was  a  coward,  and  his  heart  trembled  before  Fulbert.  He 
therefore  endeavored  to  answer  her  arguments ;  and  she,  finding 
that  his  resolution  was  fixed — a  resolution  which  he  very  char 
acteristically  calls  a  bit  of  stupidity,  meam  stultitiam — burst  into 
tears,  and  consented  to  the  marriage,  which  was  performed  with 
all  secrecy.  Fulbert  and  his  servants,  however,  in  violation  of 
their  oath,  divulged  the  secret.  Whereupon  Heloise  boldly  denied 
that  she  was  married.  The  scandal  became  great ;  but  she  per 
sisted  in  her  denials,  and  Fulbert  drove  her  from  the  house  with 
reproaches.  Abelard  removed  her  to  the  nunnery  of  Argenteuil, 
where  she  assumed  the  monastic  dress,  though  without  taking 
the  veil.  Abelard  furtively  visited  her.*  Meanwhile  Fulbert's 
suspicions  w^ere  roused,  lest  this  seclusion  in  the  nunnery  should 
be  but  the  first  step  to  her  taking  the  veil,  and  so  ridding  Abe 
lard  of  all  impediment.  Those  were  violent  and  brutal  times,  but 
the  vengeance  of  Fulbert  startled  even  the  Paris  of  those  days 
with  horror.  With  his  friends  and  accomplices,  he  surprised 
Abelard  sleeping,  and  there  inflicted  that  atrocious  mutilation, 
which  Origen  in  a  moment  of  religious  frenzy  inflicted  on  him 
self. 

In  shame  and  anguish  Abelard  sought  the  refuge  of  a  cloister. 
He  became  a  monk.  But  the  intense  selfishness  of  the  man 
would  not  permit  him  to  renounce  the  world  without  also  forcing 
Heloise  to  renounce  it.  Obedient  to  his  commands,  she  took  the 


*  He  adds  "  Nosti  .  .  .  quid  ibi  tecum  inea  Hbidinis  egerit  intemperantia 
in  quadam  etiam  parte  ipsius  rcfeotorii.  Nosti  id  impudentissime  tune  ac- 
tum  esse  in  turn  reverendo  loco  et  summje  Virgin!  consecrato." — Epist.  v. 
p.  69. 


PHILOSOPHY    OF   ABIiLARD.  355 

veil ;  thus  once  again  sacrificing  herself  to  him  whom  she  had 
accepted  as  a  husband  with  unselfish  regret,  and  whom  she  aban 
doned  in  trembling,  to  devote  herself  henceforth  without  hope, 
without  faith,  without  love,  to  her  divine  husband. 

The  gates  of  the  convent  closed  forever  on  that  noble  woman 
whose  story  continues  one  of  pure  heroism  to  the  last ;  but  we 
cannot  pause  to  narrate  it  here.  With  her  disappearance,  the 
great  interest  in  Abelard  disappears ;  we  shall  not  therefore  de 
tail  the  various  episodes  of  his  subsequent  career,  taken  up  for 
the  most  part  with  quarrels — first  with  the  monks,  whose  dis 
soluteness  he  reproved,  next  with,  theologians,  whose  hatred  he 
roused  by  the  "  heresy"  of  reasoning.  He  was  condemned  pub 
licly  to  retract ;  he  was  persecuted  as  a  heretic ;  he  had  ventured 
to  introduce  Rationalism, — or  the  explanation  of  the  dogmas  of 
Faith  by  Reason, — and  he  suffered,  as  men  always  suffer  for 
novelties  of  doctrine.  He  founded  the  convent  of  Paraclete,  of 
which  Heloise  was  the  first  abbess,  and  on  the  21st  of  April,  1142, 
he  expired,  aged  sixty-three.  "  II  vecut  dans  1'angoisse  et  mourut 
dans  rhumiliation,"  says  M.  de  Remusat,  "  mais  il  eut  de  la  gloire 
et  il  fut  aime." 

§  III.  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ABELARD. 

It  would  not  be  difficult  to  fill  a  volume  with  the  exposition  of 
Abelard's  philosophy ;  indeed,  in  M.  de  Remusat's  work  a  volume 
and  a  quarter  are  devoted  to  the  subject  without  exhausting  it. 
•But  the  nature  of  this  History,  and  the  necessities  of  space, 
equally  force  us  to  be  very  brief.  Abelard's  contributions  to  the 
development  of  speculation  may  all  be  reduced  to  two  points : 
the  question  of  Universals,  and  the  systematic  introduction  of 
Reason  as  an  independent  element  in  theology,  capable  not  only 
of  explaining  dogmas,  but  of  giving  dogmas  of  its  own. 

"  The  nature  of  genera  and  species  has  formed  perhaps  the 
longest  and  most  animated,  and  certainly  the  most  abstract  con 
troversy  which  has  ever  agitated  the  human  mind,"  says  M.  de 
Remusat,  who  adds,  "  that  it  is  also  one  which  now  seems  the 


356  FROM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

least  likely  to  have  interested  men  so  deeply."  The  same  will, 
probably,  one  day  be  said  of  the  question  of  Im materialism  and 
Materialism,  a  logomachy  as  great,  as  animated,  and  as  remote 
from  all  practical  results,  as  that  of  Universals,  but  which,  from 
its  supposed  relation  to  religious  truths,  has  been  made  the  great 
controversy  of  the  schools.  In  our  day  there  are  few  speculators 
who  do  not  believe  that  important  religious  principles  are  indis- 
solubly  connected  with  the  doctrine  of  an  immaterial  principle 
superadded  to,  and  in  nowise  identical  with,  the  brain;  and  this 
in  spite  of  the  indisputable  fact  that  the  early  Christian  Fathers 
maintained  the  materiality  not  only  of  the  soul,  but  of  God  him 
self;*  in  spite  also  of  the  many  pious  moderns  of  unimpeachable 
orthodoxy  who  held,  and  hold,  the  doctrines  stigmatized  as  Ma 
terialism,  and  who  think  with  Occam :  "  Experimur  enim  quod 
iutelligimus  et  volumus  et  nolumus,  et  similes  actus  in  nobis 
habemus ;  sed  quod  ilia  sint  e  forma  immateriali  et  incorrupti- 
bili  non  experimur,  et  omnis  ratio  ad  hujus  probationer!!  assumpta 
assumit  aliquod  dubium."f 

Although,  therefore,  the  intense  feeling  stirred  by  the  dispute 
respecting  Universals  appears  incomprehensible  to  us,  who  con 
sider  the  dispute  to  have  been  a  logomachy,  for  the  most  part; 
we  may  render  intelligible  to  ourselves  how  such  a  dispute  came 
to  be  so  important,  by  considering  the  importance  now  attached 
to  the  dispute  respecting  an  "  immaterial  principle."  Idle  or  im 
portant,  it  was  the  dispute  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  and  M.  Cousin 
is  guilty  of  no  exaggeration  in  saying  "the  whole  Scholastic 
philosophy  issued  out  of  a  phrase  in  Porphyry  as  interpreted  by 
Boethius."  Here  is  the  passage  :  "  Intentio  Porphyrii  est  in  hoc 
opere  facilcm  intellectum  ad  pra3dicamenta  prseparare,  tractando 

*  Tertullian  wrote  a  work  expressly  to  combat  the  immaterialism  of  Plato 
and  Aristotle.  One  sentence  will  suffice  to  bear  out  what  is  said  above  re 
specting  God  :  "  Quis  autem  negabit  Deum  esse  corpus,  etsi  Deus  spiritus?" 
M.  Guizot,  in  \i\sLefons  sur  I"1  Hist,  de  la  Civilisation  en  France,  and  M.  Rous- 
selot's  Etudes  sur  la  PMlos.  dans  If,  Moyen  Age,  will  furnish  the  reader  with 
other  examples. 

t  We  borrow  the  passage  from  Rousselot's  Etudes,  iii.  256. 


PHILOSOPHY   OF   ABELARD.  357 

de  quinque  rebus  vel  vocibus,  genere  scilicet,  specie,  differentia, 
proprio  et  accidenti ;  quorum  cognitio  valet  ad  praedicamentorum 
cognitionem."*  In  the  phrase  rebus  vel  vocibus  he  was  under 
stood  to  signify  that  things  and  words  were  mutually  convertible; 
to  discourse  of  one  or  of  the  other  was  indifferent ;  and  the  ques 
tion  turned  upon  this  point :  Does  the  word  Genus,  or  the  word 
Species,  represent  an  actual  something,  existing  externally, — or 
is  it  a  mere  name  which  designates  a  certain  collection  of  indi 
viduals  ?  The  former  opinion  was  held  until  Roscellinus  attacked 
it,  and  brought  forward  the  heresy  of  Nominalism  with  such 
force  of  argument  that,  although  the  heresy  was  condemned,  the 
logic  forced  its  way ;  and  Abelard,  when  he  attacked  the  doctrine 
of  Realism,  taught  by  William  de  Champeaux,  borrowed  so  much 
of  the  Nominalist  argument  that  until  quite  recently  he  has  been 
called  a  Nominalist  himself.  That  he  was  not  a  pure  Nominalist 
is  now  clear ;  and  M.  Rousselot  has  even  made  out  an  ingenious 
case  for  him  as  a  Realist.  But,  in  truth,  he  was  entirely  neither; 
he  was  something  of  both ;  he  was  a  Conceptualist.  The  pe 
culiarity  of  his  doctrine  consists  in  the  distinction  of  Matter  and 
Form  applied  to  genus  and  species.  "  Every  individual,"  he  says 
in  a  very  explicit  passage  of  the  treatise  De  Generibus  et  Specie- 
bus,  printed  by  M.  Cousin,  "  is  composed  of  matter  and  form,  t.  e. 
Socrates  from  the  matter  of  Man,  and  the  form  of  Socratity ;  so 
Plato  is  of  the  same  matter,  namely  that  of  man,  but  of  different 
form,  namely  that  of  Platonity ;  and  so  of  all  other  individual 
men.  And  just  as  the  Socratity  which  formally  constitutes  Soc 
rates  is  nowhere  but  in  Socrates,  so  the  essence  of  man  which 
sustains  Socratity  in  Socrates,  is  nowhere  but  in  Socrates.  The 
same  of  all  other  individuals.  By  species  therefore  I  mean,  not 
that  essence  of  man  which  alone  is  in  Socrates,  or  in  any  other 
individual,  but,  the  whole  collection  which  is  formed  of  all  the 

*  "The  object  of  Porphyry  in  this  work  is  to  prepare  the  mind  for  the 
easy  understanding  of  the  Predicaments,  by  treating  of  the  five  things  or 
words,  namely,  genus,  species,  difference,  property,  and  accident ;  the 
knowledge  of  which  leads  to  the  knowledge  of  the  Predicaments." 


358  FKOM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

individuals  of  the  same  nature.  This  whole  collection,  although 
essentially  multiple,  by  the  Authorities  is  named  one  Species,  one 
Universal,  one  Nature  ;  just  as  a  nation,  although  composed  of 
many  persons,  is  called  one.  Thus  each  particular  essence  of  the 
collection  called  Humanity  is  composed  of  matter  and  form, 
namely  the  animal  is  matter,  the  form  is  however  not  one,  but 
many,  i.  e.  rationality,  morality,  bipedality,  and  all  the  other  sub 
stantial  attributes.  And  that  which  is  said  of  man,  namely  that 
the  part  of  man  which  sustains  Socratity  is  not  essentially  the 
part  which  sustains  Platonity,  is  true  also  of  the  Animal.*  For 
the  Animal  which  in  me  is  the  form  of  Humanity,  cannot  essen 
tially  be  elsewhere ;  but  there  is  in  it  something  not  different 
from  the  separate  elements  of  individual  animals.  Hence,  I  call 
Genus  the  multitude  of  animal  essences  which  sustain  the  indi 
vidual  species  of  Animal :  the  multitude  diversified  by  that  which 
forms  Species.  For  this  latter  is  only  composed  by  a  collection 
of  essences  which  sustain  individual  forms ;  Genus,  on  the  con 
trary,  is  composed  by  a  collection  of  the  substantial  differences 
of  different  Species.  .  .  .  The  particular  essence  which  forms  the 
Genus  Animal,  results  from  a  certain  matter,  essence  of  body, 
and  substantial  forms,  animation  and  sensibility,  which  can  only 
exist  essentially  there,  although  they  take  indifferently  the  forms 
of  all  species  of  body.  This  union  of  essences  produces  the  uni 
versal  named  Animal  Nature."f 

This  passage  will  give  the  reader  a  taste  of  Abelard's  quality 
when  he  is  least  tiresome ;  from  it  we  see  clearly  enough  the  kind 
of  reality  which  he  attributed  to  general  terms,  in  opposition  to 
the  Nominalists,  who  taught  that  terms  were  only  terms;  he 
said  they  were  terms  which  expressed  conceptions,  and  these  con- 


*  We  must  subjoin  the  original :  "  Et  sicut  de  homine  dictum  est,  scilicet 
quod  ill  ml  horninis  quod  sustinet  Socratitatem,  illud  esscntialiter  non  sus- 
tinet  Platonitatern,  ita  de  animali.  Nam  illud  animal  quod  formam  humani- 
tatis  quoe  in  me  est,  sustinet,  illud  e?sentialiter  alibi  non  est,  sed  illi  non 
differens  est  et  singulis  materiis  singulorum  individuorum  anhnalis." 

t  De  Generibus  et  /Speci-ebtis,  p.  524. 


PHILOSOPHY    OF    ABELARD.  359 

ceptions  were  based  on  realities :  as  when  a  multitude  is  con 
ceived  under  the  form  of  unity,  linking  together  all  the  actual 
resemblances  existing  between  the  individuals.  This  looks  so 
very  like  Realism,  that  M.  Rousselot  may  be  pardoned  for  having 
argued  at  great  length  the  paradoxical  thesis  of  Abelard's  being 
a  Realist ;  but  a  closer  examination  of  the  treatise  from  which 
we  have  just  cited  a  long  passage,  proves  that  Abelard  did  not 
deceive  himself  in  maintaining  the  Realist  doctrine  to  be  errone 
ous  from  his  point  of  view.  He  maintained  that  genus  and 
species  were  not  general  essences  existing  essentially  and  inte 
grally  in  the  individuals,  whose  identity  admitted  of  no  other 
diversity  than  that  of  individual  modes,  or  accidents  ;  which  was 
the  doctrine  of  Realism  ;  for,  if  this  doctrine  were  true,  the  sub 
ject  of  these  accidents,  the  substance  of  these  modes  being  iden 
tical,  every  individual  would  possess  the  same  substance,  and 
humanity  would  only  be  one  man  ;  thus  Socrates  being  at 
Athens,  humanity  would  be  at  Athens;  but  Plato  being  at 
Thebes,  humanity  must  then  either  not  be  at  Athens,  or  Plato 
must  not  be  humanity. 

Let  us  quit  here  the  question  of  Universals,  to  consider  the 
second  characteristic  of  Abelard's  philosophy.  It  was  he  who 
gave  the  form  if  not  the  subject-matter  of  Scholasticism.  It  was 
he  who  brought  Logic  as  an  independent  power  into  the  arena 
of  theological  debate ;  a  heresy  which  drew  the  terrors  of  the 
Church  upon  him :  Ponit  in  coelum  os  suum  et  scrutatur  alia 
Dei,  said  St.  Bernard,  writing  to  the  Pope  ;  and  the  same  St. 
Bernard  let  fall  the  terrible  accusation  :  "  transgreditur  fines  quos 
posuerunt  patres  nostri — he  has  gone  beyond  the  limits  set  by 
our  forefathers  !" — in  all  ages,  in  all  nations,  a  mark  of  repro 
bation. 

Supported,  as  he  thought,  by  thousands  of  partisans,  Abelard 
assumed  an  attitude  of  offence,  almost  of  disdain.  Unconscious 
of  his  real  danger,  he  published  the  substance  of  his  Lectures  in 
a  work  called  Introductio  ad  Theoloyiam,  in  which  he  undertook 
to  demonstrate  by  Reason  the  dogmas  of  Faith,  and  promulgated 


360  FROM    PliOCLUS    TO    BACON. 

the  then  audacious  opinion,  that  all  dogmas  should  be  presented 
under  a  rational  form.  That  this  was  very  far  from  being  ac 
ceptable,  may  be  read  not  only  in  his  condemnation,  but  also  in 
the  passage  of  his  Dialectica,  where  he  says  that  his  rivals  de 
clared  it  not  permissible  in  a  Christian  to  treat  even  of  Dialec 
tics,  because  Dialectics  was  not  only  incapable  of  instructing  any 
one  in  the  faith,  but  disturbed  and  destroyed  faith  by  the  com 
plication  of  its  arguments.* 

This  commencement,  feeble  though  it  may  have  been,  marks  a 
new  epoch  in  the  development  of  speculation.  The  struggle  of 
Reason  against  Authority,  which  began  with  Abelard,  has  not 
yet  terminated.  "  My  disciples,"  he  says  in  his  Introduction, 
"  asked  me  for  arguments  drawn  from  philosophy  such  as  reason 
demanded,  begging  me  to  instruct  them  that  they  might  under 
stand,  and  not  merely  repeat  what  was  taught  them ;  since  no 
one  can  believe  any  thing  until  he  has  first  understood  it;  and  it 
is  ridiculous  to  preach  to  others  what  neither  teacher  nor  pupil 
understand." 

Not  content  with  this  revolutionary  principle,  Abelard  further 
"transgressed  the  limits  of  his  forefathers"  by  the  composition  of 
the  treatise  Sic  et  Non,\  the  object  of  which  was  to  cite  the  pas 
sages  of  Scripture  and  the  Fathers  pro  and  con.  upon  every  im 
portant  topic  :  this  collocation  of  contradictory  statements  given 
by  the  highest  possible  authorities  was  meant,  as  Abelard  dis 
tinctly  informs  us.  to  train  the  mind  to  vigorous  and  healthy 
doubt,  in  fulfilment  of  the  injunction,  "  Seek,  and  ye  shall  find  ; 
knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  you."  "  Dubitando  enim  ad 
inquisitionem  venimus ;  inquirendo  vcritatem  percipimus;  juxta 
quod  et  Veritas  ipsa  Qucerite,  inquit,  invenietis  •  pulsate,  et  ape- 
rietur  vobis"^  Whatever  his  intention  may  have  been,  the  re- 


*  Dialectica,  p.  434. 

t  It  is  printed  in  Cousin's  edition,  but  with  omissions.  The  entire  work 
was  published  in  Germany,  1841,  under  this  title :  Petri  Abaelardi  Sic  (,t 
Non  /  primum  integrum  ediderunt  E.  L.  Henke  et  G.  S.  Lindenkokl. 

\  Page  17  of  the  edition  just  named. 


ALGAZZALI.  361 

suit  of  such  a  work  was  clearly  foreseen  by  theological  teachers, 
who  regarded  doubt  as  damnable,  and  would  not  tolerate  it  under 
the  plausible  aspects  of  intellectual  gymnastics,  or  the  love  of 
seeking  for  truth.  But  theologians  were  unable  to  arrest  the 
development  of  speculation.  Doubt  began ;  disputation  waxed 
stronger ;  logic  played  like  lambent  flame  around  the  most  sacred 
subjects ;  Scholasticism  entered  every  city  in  Europe,  and  filled 
it  with  subtle  disputants. 

During  the  centuries  which  succeeded,  the  question  of  Nomi 
nalism  was  constantly  in  debate ;  and  besides  it  many  others  so 
remote,  and,  to  modern  apprehensions,  so  frivolous,  that  few  his 
torians  boast  of  more  than  superficial  acquaintance  with  mediaeval 
philosophy,  and  few  mention  it  without  scorn.  To  name  but 
one  topic,  what  does  the  reader  think  of  a  debate,  utrum  Deus 
intelligat  omnia  alia  a  se  per  ideas  eorum,  an  aliter?  What 
does  he  think  of  men  wasting  their  energies  in  trying  to  convince 
each  other  of  the  true  process  by  which  God  conceived  ideas — 
discussing,  with  ardor  and  unmisgiving  ingenuity,  topics  which 
are  necessarily  beyond  all  possible  demonstration  ?  Nevertheless, 
absurd  as  such  discussions  were,  they  have  found,  even  in  modern 
times,  legitimate  successors;  and  the  laborious  futility  of  the 
Schoolmen  has  been  rivalled  by  the  laborious  futility  of  the  Ger 
man  metaphysicians. 

We  are  not  here  to  follow  step  by  step  the  long  course  of  me- 
diseval  speculation,  but  may  pass  at  once  to  the  Arabian  Philos 
ophy  as  illustrated  in  Algazzali. 

§  III.     ALGAZZALI. 

In  our  ignorance  of  Arabian  history,  it  would  be  presumptuous 
to  assert  that,  until  the  Greeks  became  known  to  them,  the  Arabs 
had  no  philosophy  at  all  of  their  own  ;  but  whatever  they  may 
have  had,  we  are  only  repeating  their  own  avowal  in  asserting, 
that  after  their  acquaintance  with  the  Grecian  systems,  all  phil 
osophical  energy  was  devoted  to  the  mastery  and  development 
of  those  systems.  The  history  of  their  philosophy  is  divided  into 

16 


362  FROM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

two  parts  :  the  first  comprising  the  period  of  ancient  thinkers, 
the  Greeks  ;  the  second  comprising  the  efforts  of  the  Mussulman 
schools.  The  Greek  schools  were  divided  into  two  series,  those 
which  preceded  and  those  which  succeeded  Aristotle.*  In  the 
first  series  there  is  scarcely  a  name  familiar  to  our  ears  which 
was  not  familiar  to  the  Arabian  philosophers,  Orpheus  and 
Homer  included.  The  Seven  Sages  are  constantly  alluded  to. 
Thales,  Anaximenes,  Heraclitus,  in  short  all  the  great  thinkers, 
are  expounded  and  commented  on,  not,  according  to  M.  Schmol- 
ders,  with  any  historical  or  critical  accuracy,  but  at  any  rate 
sufficiently  to  show  their  acquaintance  with  Greek  books.  In 
the  series  succeeding  Aristotle  they  are  more  at  home.  They 
translated  every  work  they  could  procure,  and  studied  with  ser 
vile  ingenuity  to  appropriate  all  the  doctrines  of  the  Stagirite. 
Thus  it  is  that  Arabian  Philosophy  lies  beside  the  sphere  of 
European  development ;  although  the  Arabians  played  an  im 
portant  part  in  the  development  of  European  culture  during  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  Averroes  and  Avicenna  were  long  regarded  as 
magistri,  no  sooner  did  Europe  possess  the  originals  from  which 
the  Arabs  learned,  than  they  neglected  these  interpreters,  and 
interpreted  for  themselves. 

The  work  which  will  form  the  basis  of  the  present  Section  is 
one  which  has  the  attraction  of  being  entirely  original — the  his 
tory  of  a  mind  developing  amid  Arabian  influences,  and  not  the 
mere  reflex  of  Grecian  thought.  It  is  probably  owing  to  the 
originality  of  this  treatise  that  it  was  never  translated  during  the 
Middle  Ages,  the  translators  of  those  days  caring  only  for  Greek 
Philosophy  ;  and  thus,  in  spite  of  the  high  reputation  of  Algazzali, 
the  work  was  a  closed  book  to  all  but  Arabian  scholars,  until  1842, 
when  a  learned  German  reprinted  it  with  a  translation  into  French.f 

Algazzali,  the  Light  of  Islam  and  Pillar  of  the  Mosque,  who 


*  Schrnolders,  Essai  sur  les  Ecoles  Pliilosophiques  chez  les  Arabes,  p.  96. 

t  JSssai  sur  les  Ecoles  Philosophiques  chez  les  Arabes.  Par  M.  Schmolders- 
Paris,  1842.  From  my  notice  of  this  work  in  the  Edinburgh  Review,  April, 
1847,  I  have  incorporated  many  passages  in  the  present  Section. 


ALGAZZALI.  363 

under  the  names  of  Gazzali,  Ghazail,  and  Algazel  is  frequently 
mentioned  by  writers  on  Arabian  Philosophy,  and  was  at  one 
time  made  familiar  to  Europe  by  the  attacks  of  his  adversary 
Averroes,  was  born  in  the  city  of  Tous,  A.  D.  1508.  He  was 
named  Abou  Hamed  Mohammed,  and  his  father  was  a  dealer  in 
cotton-thread  (gazzdfy,  from  whence  he  drew  his  name.  Losing 
his  father  in  early  life,  he  was  confided  to  the  care  of  a  Soufi. 
The  nearest  approach  to  what  is  meant  by  a  Soufi,  is  what  we 
mean  by  Mystic.  The  influence  of  this  Soufi  was  great.  No 
sooner  had  the  youth  finished  his  studies,  than  he  was  appointed 
professor  of  theology  at  Bagdad,  where  his  eloquence  achieved 
such  splendid  success  that  all  the  Imams  became  his  eager  parti 
sans.  So  great  was  the  admiration  he  inspired,  that  the  Mus 
sulman  sometimes  said,  "  If  all  Islam  were  destroyed,  it  would 
be  but  a  slight  loss,  provided  Algazzali's  work  on  the  '  Revivifi 
cation  of  the  Sciences  of  Religion'  were  preserved."  It  is  this 
work  which  M.  Schmolders  has  translated.  It  bears  so  remark 
able  a  resemblance  to  the  Discours  sur  la  MetJwde  of  Descartes, 
that,  had  any  translation  of  it  existed  in  the  days  of  Descartes, 
every  one  would  have  cried  out  against  the  plagiarism. 

Like  Descartes,  he  begins  with  describing  how  he  had  in  vain 
interrogated  every  sect  for  an  answer  to  the  mysterious  problems 
which  "  disturbed  him  with  a  sense  of  things  unknown ;"  and 
how  he  finally  resolved  to  discard  all  authority,  and  detach  him 
self  from  the  opinions  which  had  been  instilled  into  him  during 
the  unsuspecting  years  of  childhood.  "I  said  to  myself,"  he 
proceeds,  "  My  aim  is  simply  to  know  the  truth  of  things ;  con 
sequently  it  is  indispensable  for  me  to  ascertain  what  is  knowl 
edge.  Now,  it  was  evident  to  me  that  certain  knowledge  must  be 
that  which  explains  the  object  to  be  known,  in  such  a  manner 
that  no  doubt  can  remain,  so  that  in  future  all  error  and  conjec 
ture  respecting  it  must  be  impossible.  Not  only  would  the 
understanding  then  need  no  efforts  to  be  convinced  of  certitude, 
but  security  against  error  is  in  such  close  connection  with  knowl 
edge,  that  even  were  an  apparent  proof  of  its  falsehood  to  be 


364:  FROM   PKOCLUS    TO   BACON. 

brought  forward,  it  would  cause  no  doubt,  because  no  suspicion 
of  error  would  be  possible.  Thus,  when  I  have  acknowledged 
ten  to  be  more  than  three,  if  any  one  were  to  say,  '  On  the  con 
trary,  three  is  more  than  ten ;  and  to  prove  the  truth  of  my 
assertion,  I  will  change  this  rod  into  a  serpent :'  and  if  he  were 
to  change  it,  my  conviction  of  his  error  would  remain  unshaken. 
His  manoeuvre  would  only  produce  in  me  admiration  for  his 
ability.  I  should  not  doubt  my  own  knowledge. 

"  Then  was  I  convinced  that  knowledge  which  I  did  not  pos 
sess  in  this  manner,  and  respecting  which  I  had  not  this  cer 
tainty,  could  inspire  me  with  neither  confidence  nor  assurance  ; 
and  no  knowledge  without  assurance  deserves  the  name  of 
knowledge. 

"Having  examined  the  state  of  my  own  knowledge,  I  found  it 
divested  of  all  that  could  be  said  to  have  these  qualities,  unless 
perceptions  of  the  senses  and  irrefragable  principles  were  to  be 
considered  such.  I  then  said  to  myself,  Now  having  fallen  into 
this  despair,  the  only  hope  remaining  of  acquiring  incontestable 
convictions  is  by  the  perception  of  the  senses,  and  by  necessary 
truths.  Their  evidence  seemed  to  me  indubitable.  I  began, 
however,  to  examine  the  objects  of  sensation  and  speculation,  to 
see  if  they  could  possibly  admit  of  doubt.  Then  doubts  crowded 
upon  me  in  such  numbers  that  my  incertitude  became  complete. 
Whence  results  the  confidence  I  have  in  sensible  thino-s  ?  The 

O 

strongest  of  all  our  senses  is  sight;  and  yet,  looking  at  a  shadow 
and  perceiving  it  to  be  fixed  and  immovable,  we  judge  it  to  be 
deprived  of  movement ;  nevertheless,  experience  teaches  us  that, 
when  we  return  to  the  same  place  an  hour  after,  the  shadow  is 
displaced;  for  it  does  not  vanish  suddenly,  but  gradually,  little 
by  little,  so  as  never  to  be  at  rest.  If  we  look  at  the  stars,  they 
seem  as  small  as  money-pieces ;  but  mathematical  proofs  convince 
us  they  are  larger  than  the  earth.  These  and  other  things  are 
judged  by  the  senses,  but  rejected  by  reason  as  false.  I  aban 
doned  the  senses,  therefore,  having  seen  all  my  confidence  in 
their  truth  shaken. 


ALGAZZALI.  365 

"Perhaps,"  said  I,  "there  is  no  assurance  but  in  the  notions  of 
Reason :  that  is  to  say,  first  principles,  e.  g.  ten  is  more  than 
three :  the  same  thing  cannot  have  been  created  and  yet  have 
existed  from  all  eternity;  to  exist  and  not  to  exist  at  the  same 
time  is  impossible. 

"Upon  this  the  senses  replied  :  What  assurance  have  you  that 
your  confidence  in  Reason  is  not  of  the  same  nature  as  your 
confidence  in  us  ?  When  you  relied  on  us,  Reason  stepped  in 
and  gave  us  the  lie  ;  had  not  Reason  been  there,  you  would  have 
continued  to  rely  on  us.  Well,  may  there  not  exist  some  other 
judge  superior  to  Reason,  who,  if  he  appeared,  would  refute  the 
judgments  of  Reason  in  the  same  way  that  Reason  refuted  us  ? 
The  non-appearance  of  such  a  judge  is  no  proof  of  his  non-ex 
istence." 

These  skeptical  arguments  Algazzali  borrowed  from  the  Gre 
cian  skeptics,  and  having  borrowed  them,  he  likewise  borrowed 
from  Grecian  mystics,  of  the  Alexandrian  school,  the  means  of 
escape  from  skepticism.  He  looked  upon  life  as  a  dream. 

"  I  strove  in  vain  to  answer  the  objections.  And  my  difficul 
ties  increased  when  I  came  to  reflect  upon  sleep.  I  said  to  my 
self.  During  sleep  you  give  to  visions  a  reality  and  consistence, 
and  you  have  no  suspicion  of  their  untruth.  On  awakening, 
you  are  made  aware  that  they  were  nothing  but  visions.  What 
assurance  have  you,  that  all  you  feel  and  know  when  awake,  does 
actually  exist  ?  It  is  all  true  as  respects  your  condition  at  that 
moment ;  but  it  is,  nevertheless,  possible  that  another  condition 
should  present  itself,  which  should  be  to  your  awakened  state 
that  which  your  awakened  state  now  is  to  your  sleep ;  so  that, 
in  respect  to  this  higher  condition,  your  waking  is  but  sleep." 

If  such  a  superior  condition  be  granted,  Algazzali  asks  whether 
we  can  ever  attain  to  participation  in  it.  He  suspects  that  the 
Ecstasy  described  by  the  Soufis  must  be  the  very  condition.  But 
he  finds  himself  philosophically  unable  to  escape  the  conse 
quences  of  skepticism  :  the  skeptical  arguments  could  only  be 
refuted  by  demonstrations ;  but  demonstrations  themselves  must 


366  FROM  PROCLUS  TO  BACON. 

be  founded  on  first  principles ;  if  they  are  uncertain,  no  demon 
stration  can  be  certain. 

"  I  was  thus  forced  to  return  to  the  admission  of  intellectual 
notions  as  the  basis  of  all  certitude.  This,  however,  was  not  by 
systematic  reasoning  and  accumulation  of  proofs,  but  by  a  flash 
of  light  which  God  sent  into  my  soul  For  whoever  imagines  that 
truth  can  only  be  rendered  evident  by  proofs,  places  narrow  limits 
to  the  wide  compassion  of  the  Creator." 

Thus  we  see  Algazzali  eluding  skepticism  just  as  the  Alexan 
drians  eluded  it,  taking  refuge  in  faith.  He  then  cast  his  eyes  on 
the  various  sects  of  the  faithful,  whom  he  ranged  under  four 
classes : 

I.  The  Dogmatists :  those  who  ground  their  doctrine  wholly 
upon  reason. 

II.  The  Basttnis,  or  Allegorists :  those  who  receive  their  doc 
trine  from  an  Imam,  and  believe  themselves  sole  possessors  of  truth. 

III.  The  Philosophers :  those  who  call  themselves  masters  of 
Logic  and  Demonstration. 

IV.  The  Soufis :  those  who  claim  an  immediate  intuition,  by 
which  they  perceive  the  real  manifestations  of  truth  as  ordinary 
men  perceive  material  phenomena. 

These  schools  he  resolved  thoroughly  to  question.  In  the 
writings  of  the  Dogmatists  he  acknowledged  that  their  aim  was 
realized  ;  but  their  aim  was  not  his  aim  :  "  Their  aim,"  he  says, 
"is  the  preservation  of  the  Faith  from  the  alterations  introduced 
by  heretics."  But  his  object  was  philosophical,  not  theological ; 
so  he  turned  from  the  Dogmatists  to  the  Philosophers,  studying 
their  works  with  intense  ardor,  convinced  that  he  could  not  refute 
them  until  he  had  thoroughly  understood  them.  He  did  refute 
them,  entirely  to  his  satisfaction  ;*  and  having  done  so,  turned 
to  the  Soufis,  in  whose  writings  he  found  a  doctrine  which  re 
quired  the  union  of  actidn  with  speculation,  in  which  virtue  was 

*  In  the  ninth  volume  of  the  works  of  Averroes  there  is  a  treatise  by  Al- 
gazzfdi,  Destructio  Philosopher umt  which  contains  his  refutation  of  the  phil 
osophical  schools. 


ALGAZZALI.  367 

n,  guide  to  knowledge.  The  aim  of  the  Soufis  was  to  free  the 
mind  from  earthly  considerations,  to  purify  it  from  all  passions, 
to  leave  it  only  God  as  an  object  of  meditation.  The  highest 
truths  were  not  to  be  reached  by  study,  but  by  transport — by  a 
transformation  of  the  soul  during  ecstasy.  There  is  the  same 
difference  between  this  higher  order  of  truth  and  ordinary  sci 
ence,  as  between  being  healthy  and  knowing  the  definition  of 
health.  To  reach  this  state,  it  was  necessary  first  to  purify  the 
soul  from  all  earthly  desires,  to  extirpate  from  it  all  attachment 
to  the  world,  and  humbly  direct  the  thoughts  to  our  eternal 
home. 

"Reflecting  on  my  situation,  I  found  myself  bound  to  this 
world  by  a  thousand  ties,  temptations  assailing  me  on  all  sides. 
I  then  examined  my  actions.  The  best  were  those  relating  to 
instruction  and  education ;  and  even  there  I  saw  myself  given 
up  to  unimportant  sciences,  all  useless  in  another  world.  Reflect 
ing  on  the  aim  of  my  teaching,  I  found  it  was  not  pure  in  the 
sight  of  the  Lord.  I  saw  that  all  my  efforts  were  directed  to 
wards  the  acquisition  of  glory  to  myself." 

Thus  did  Philosophy  lead  him  to  a  speculative  Asceticism, 
wrhich  calamity  was  shortly  afterwards  to  transform  into  practical 
Asceticism.  One  day,  as  he  was  about  to  lecture  to  a  throng  of 
admiring  auditors,  his  tongue  refused  utterance :  he  was  dumb. 
This  seemed  to  him  a  visitation  of  God,  a  rebuke  to  his  vanity, 
which  deeply  afflicted  him.  He  lost  his  appetite  ;  he  was  fast  sink 
ing  ;  physicians  declared  his  recovery  hopeless,  unless  he  could 
shake  off  the  sadness  which  depressed  him.  He  sought  refuge  in 
contemplation  of  the  Deity. 

"  Having  distributed  my  wealth,  I  left  Bagdad  and  retired  into 
Syria,  where  I  remained  two  years  in  solitary  struggle  with  my 
soul,  combating  my  passions  and  exercising  myself  in  the  purifica 
tion  of  my  heart,  and  in  preparation  for  the  other  world," 

He  visited  Jerusalem,  and  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca,  but  at 
length  returned  to  Bagdad,  urged  thereto  by  "  private  affairs"  and 
the  requests  of  his  children,  as  he  says,  but  more  probably  urged 


368  FROM  PROCLUS  TO  BACON. 

thereto  by  his  sense  of  failure,  for  he  confesses  not  to  have  reached 
the  ecstatic  stage.  Occasional  glimpses  were  all  he  could  attain, 
isolated  moments  of  exaltation  passing  quickly  away. 

"Nevertheless,  I  did  not  despair  of  finally  attaining  this  state. 
Every  time  that  any  accident  turned  me  from  it,  I  endeavored 
quickly  to  re-enter  it.  In  this  condition  I  remained  ten  years.  In 
my  solitude  there  were  revelations  made  to  me  which  it  is  impos 
sible  for  me  to  describe,  or  even  indicate.  Enough  it^  for  the 
reader's  profit,  I  declare  that  the  conviction  was  forced  upon  me 
that  the  Soufis  indubitably  walked  in  the  true  paths  of  salvation. 
Their  way  of  life  is  the  most  beautiful,  and  their  morals  the 
purest  that  can  be  conceived." 

The  first  condition  of  Soufi  purification  is,  that  the  novice 
purge  his  heart  of  all  that  is  not  God.  Prayers  are  the  means. 
The  object  is  absorption  in  the  Deity. 

"  From  the  very  first,  Soufis  have  such  astonishing  revelations 
that  they  are  enabled,  while  waking,  to  see  visions  of  angels  and 
the  souls  of  the  prophets ;  they  hear  their  voices,  and  receive  their 
favors.  Afterwards  a  transport  exalts  them  beyond  the  mere  per 
ception  of  forms,  to  a  degree  which  exceeds  all  expression,  and  con 
cerning  which  we  cannot  speak  without  employing  language  that 
would  sound  blasphemous.  In  fact,  some  have  gone  so  far  as  to 
imagine  themselves  to  be  amalgamated  with  God,  others  identified 
with  him,  and  others  to  be  associated  with  him.*  All  these  are 
sinful." 

Algazzali  refuses  to  enter  more  minutely  into  this  subject ;  he 
contents  himself  with  the  assertion  that  whoso  knows  not  Ecstasy 
knows  prophetism  only  by  name.  And  what  is  Prophetism  ? 
The  fourth  stage  in  intellectual  development.  The  first,  or  infant 
ile  stage,  is  that  of  pure  Sensation ;  the  second,  which  begins  at 
the  age  of  seven,  is  that  of  Understanding ;  the  third  is  Reason, 
by  means  of  which  the  intellect  perceives  the  necessary,  the  pos 
sible,  the  absolute,  and  all  those  higher  objects  which  transcend 

*  How  characteristic  this  is  of  mysticism  in  all  ages  may  be  seen  in  the 
delightful  Hours  with  the  Mystics,  by  Mr.  R.  A.  Vuughan. 


ALGAZZALI.  369 

the  Understanding.*  After  this  comes  the  fourth  stage,  when 
another  eye  is  opened,  by  which  man  perceives  things  hidden  from 
others — perceives  all  that  will  be — perceives  things  that  escape 
the  perceptions  of  Reason,  as  the  objects  of  Reason  escape  the 
Understanding,  and  as  the  objects  of  Understanding  escape  the 
sensitive  faculty.  This  is  Prophetism.  Algazzali  undertakes  to 
prove  the  existence  of  this  faculty  : 

"Doubts  respecting  Prophetism  must  refer  either  to  its  possibility 
or  its  reality.  To  prove  its  possibility  it  is  only  necessary  to  prove 
that  it  belongs  to  the  category  of  objects  which  cannot  be  regarded 
as  the  products  of  intelligence  :  such,  for  example,  as  Astronomy  or 
Medicine.  For  whoso  studies  these  sciences  is  aware  that  they 
cannot  be  comprehended  except  by  Divine  inspiration,  with  the 
assistance  of  God,  and  not  by  experience.  Since  there  are  astro 
nomical  indications  which  only  appear  once  in  a  thousand  years, 
how  could  they  be  known  by  experience  ?  From  this  argument  it 
is  evident  that  it  is  very  possible  to  perceive  things  which  the 
intelligence  cannot  conceive.  And  this  is  precisely  one  of  the 
properties  of  Prophetism,  which  has  a  myriad  other  properties ; 
but  these  others  are  only  perceptible  during  ecstasy  by  those  who 
lead  the  life  of  the  Soufis." 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  judge  of  Soufism,  which  was  not, 
strictly  speaking,  a  Philosophy,  nor  was  it  a  Religion.  No  Mus 
sulman,  according  to  M.  Schmolders,  ever  regarded  it  as  either. 
It  was  simply  a  rule  of  life,  carried  into  practice  by  a  body  of 
men,  similar  to  what  in  Europe  would  have  been  a  monastic  order. 
The  aim  of  Algazzali's  treatise  was  something  more  than  the 
mere  inculcation  of  Soufism,  it  was  the  endeavor  to  supply  a 
philosophical  basis  for  the  rule  of  life  ;  in  other  words,  an  attempt 
to  reconcile  Religion  with  Philosophy,  or  Philosophy  with  Re 
ligion  ;  precisely  analogous  to  that  attempt  which  constitutes  the 
whole  philosophic  activity  of  Scholasticism.  There  were  two 
great  epochs  in  the  intellectual  development  of  the  Arabians  :  the 

*  Kant^s  three  psy«horogical  elements,  SinnUchkeit,.  Verstand,  Vernunft, 
are  here  anticipated. 

J6* 


370  FROM  PROCLUS  TO  BACON. 

preaching  of  Mahomet,  and  the  conquest  of  Alexandria :  the  one 
gave  them  a  Religion,  the  other  gave  them  a  Philosophy.  The 
doctrines  of  the  Koran  were  blended  with  those  of  the  Neo-Pla- 
tonists,  and  the  result  was  that  system  of  speculation  known  as 
Arabian  Philosophy;  a  system  different  in  its  details,  but  similar 
in  spirit  and  purpose  to  that  known  as  Scholasticism,  which 
blended  the  doctrines  of  Christianity  with  those  of  Grecian  spec 
ulators. 

§  IV.  REVIVAL  OF  LEARNING. 

However  similar  in  spirit,  Scholasticism  could  of  course  only 
accept,  from  the  Arabian  Philosophy,  that  portion  which  was  de 
rived  from  Greece,  since  Christianity  necessarily  replaced  the  Ma 
hometan  element.  Europe  was  indebted  to  the  Arabs  for  most  of 
the  principal  works  of  Aristotle ;  and  although  it  has  long  been 
the  cue  of  historians  and  critics  to  speak  contemptuously  of  the 
Arabian  translations — a  contempt  perfectly  impartial,  seeing  that 
the  critics  could  read  no  Arabic — we  are  assured  by  M.  Schrnolders 
that  these  translations  were  very  careful,  and  critical.  Through 
the  schools  of  Cordoba,  Seville,  Toledo,  Valencia,  Murcia,  and 
Almeria,  the  Greek  writers  penetrated  everywhere. 

With  the  revival  of  learning,  after  the  fall  of  Constantinople 
came  fresh  streams  of  Grecian  influence.  The  works  of  Plato  be 
came  generally  known ;  under  Marsilio  Ficino — to  whom  we  owe 
the  Latin  translation  of  Plato* — a  school  of  Platonists  was  formed, 
which  continued  to  divide,  with  the  school  of  Aristotle,  the  su 
premacy  of  Europe,  under  new  forms,  as  before  it  had  divided  it 
under  the  form  of  Realism.  The  effect  of  this  influx  of  Grecian 
influence,  at  a  period  when  Philosophy  was  just  emancipating 
itself  from  the  absolute  authority  of  the  Church,  and  proclaiming 
the  divine  right  of  Reason  to  be  heard  on  all  rational  topics,  was  to 
transfer  the  allegiance  from  the  Church  to  Antiquity.  To  have 
suddenly  cast  off  all  authority  would  have  been  too  violent  a 

*  In  many  respects  our  best  guide  to  Plato's  meaning  where  he  is  most 
obscure.  It  is  printed  in  Bekker's  edition. 


REVIVAL    OF   LEARNING.  371 

change ;  and  it  may  on  the  whole  be  regarded  as  fortunate  for 
human  development  that  Philosophy  did  so  blindly  accept  the 
new  authority — one  altogether  human,  yet  without  deep  roots  in 
the  life  of  the  nation,  without  any  external  constituted  power, 
consequently  very  liable  to  disunion  and  disruption,  and  certain 
to  give  way  before  the  necessary  insurgence  of  Reason  insisting 
on  freedom. 

There  is  something  profoundly  significant  in  the  principle  ot 
Authority,  when  not  exercised  despotically,  and  something  essen 
tially  anarchical  in  the  principle  of  Liberty  of  Thought,  when  not 
restrained  within  due  limits.  Both  Authority  and  Liberty  are 
necessary  principles,  which  only  in  misuse  become  paralyzing  or 
destructive.  It  may  be  made  perfectly  clear  to  the  rational  mind 
that  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  "liberty  of  private  judgment" 
in  Mathematics,  Astronomy,  Physics,  Chemistry,  or  any  other 
science  the  truths  of  which  have  been  established ;  the  person 
ignorant  of  these  sciences  does,  and  must,  take  upon  trust  the 
statements  made  by  those  who  are  authorities ;  he  cannot  indulge 
his  "private  judgment"  on  the  matter,  without  forfeiting  the  re 
spect  of  those  who  hear  him.  Does  this  mean  that  all  men  are 
bound  blindly  to  accept  what  astronomers  and  chemists  assert  ? 
No ;  to  require  such  submission  of  the  judgment,  is  to  pass  beyond 
the  principle  of  Authority,  and  assume  that  of  Despotism.  The 
principle  of  Liberty  assures  entire  freedom  to  intellectual  activity, 
warrants  the  control  of  Authority,  incites  men  to  control  it  by 
submitting  its  positions  to  those  elementary  tests  by  which  it  was 
itself  originally  constituted.  If  I  have  made  a  series  of  experiments 
which  have  led  to  the  disclosure  of  an  important  truth,  your 
liberty  of  private  judgment  is  mere  anarchy  if  it  assert  itself  in 
denying  the  truth  simply  out  of  your  own  preconceptions ;  but  it 
is  healthy  freedom  if  it  assert  itself  in  denying  the  truth  after 
having  submitted  my  authority  to  its  original  tests  (those  experi 
ments,  namely,  which  gave  it  authority),  and  after  detecting  some 
error  in  my  experimentation,  or  some  inaccuracy  in  my  induction. 
The  authoritative  statement  of  Sir  Charles  Bell,  repeated  by  every 


372  FROM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

other  anatomist,  respecting  the  separate  functions  of  the  anterior 
and  posterior  columns  of  the  spinal  chord,  was  one  which  permitted 
no  liberty  of  private  judgment,  but  did  permit  liberty  of  private 
verification ;  and  when  M.  Brown-Sequard  repeated  the  original 
experiments  and  proved  the  former  conclusions  to  be  erroneous,* 
his  authoritative  statement  replaced  that  of  previous  anatomists, 
and  will  continue  to  replace  it,  until  it  has  undergone  a  similar 
defeat  through  the  process  of  verification. 

If  this  is  a  correct  view,  it  will  enable  us  to  understand  the 
long  continuance  of  Aristotle's  authority,  which  coerced  the 
minds  of  men  as  the  authority  of  one  confessedly  a  master  in  his 
art,  and  one  whose  positions  would  not  easily  be  brought  to  the 
test  of  verification.  Hence,  as  Bayle  says,  the  method  employed 
was  first  to  prove  every  thesis  by  authority,  and  next  by  argu 
ments  ;  the  proofs  by  authority  were  passages  of  Aristotle  :  the 
arguments  went  to  show  that  these  passages,  rightly  interpreted, 
meant  what  the  thesis  meant. 

Other  causes  contributed  to  foster  this  reverence  for  Authority ; 
only  one  cause  could  effectually  destroy  it,  and  that  was  the  rise 
of  positive  Science,  which  by  forcing  men  to  verify  every  step 
they  took,  led  them  into  direct  antagonism  with  the  ancients, 
and  made  them  choose  between  the  new  truth  and  the  old  dogma. 
As  Campanella — one  of  the  reforming  thinkers — acutely  saw, 
"  the  reforms  already  made  in  philosophy  must  make  us  expect 
its  complete  change ;  and  whoever  denies  that  the  Christian 
mind  will  surpass  the  Pagan  mind,  must  also  deny  the  existence 
of  the  New  World,  the  planets  and  the  stars,  the  seas,  the  ani 
mals,  the  colonies,  and  the  modern  sects  of  the  new  cosmog 
raphy."!  It  does  not  come  within  our  purpose  here  to  trace 
the  rise  and  development  of  Science ;  we  must  therefore  pass  at 
once  to  Giordano  Bruno,  whom  we  have  selected  as  the  type  of 
the  philosophical  insurgents  against  the  authority  of  Aristotle 
and  the  Church. 

*  See  Memoires  de  la  Societc  de  Biologie.     1855. 

t  Quotod  by  M.  Kenouvier,  Manuel  de  Philos*  Moderne,  p.  7. 


GIORDANO   BRUNO.  373 

§  Y.  GIORDANO  BRUNO.* 

On  the  17th  of  February,  1600,  a  vast  concourse  of  people  was 
assembled  in  the  largest  open  space  in  Rome,  gathered  together 
by  the  irresistible  sympathy  which  men  always  feel  with  what 
ever  is  terrible  and  tragic  in  human  existence.  In  the  centre 
stood  a  huge  pile  of  fagots ;  from  out  its  logs  and  branches  rose 
a  stake.  Crowding  round  the  pile  were  eager  and  expectant 
faces,  men  of  various  ages  and  of  various  characters,  but  all  for 
one  moment  united  in  a  common  feeling  of  malignant  triumph. 
Religion  was  about  to  be  avenged :  a  heretic  was  coming  to  ex 
piate  on  that  spot  the  crime  of  open  defiance  to  the  dogmas  pro 
claimed  by  the  Church — the  crime  of  teaching  that  the  earth 
moved,  and  that  there  was  an  infinity  of  worlds  :  the  scoundrel ! 
the  villain !  the  blasphemer !  Among  the  crowd  might  be  seen 
monks  of  every  description,  especially  Dominicans,  who  were 
anxious  to  witness  the  punishment  of  an  apostate  from  their 
order ;  wealthy  citizens  were  jostling  ragged  beggars, — young 
and  beauteous  women,  some  of  them  with  infants  at  their  breasts, 
were  talking  with  their  husbands  and  fathers, — and  playing 
about  amidst  the  crowd,  in  all  the  heedlessness  of  childhood, 
were  a  number  of  boys,  squeezing  their  way,  and  running  up 
against  scholars  pale  with  study,  and  bearded  soldiers  glittering 
with  steel. 

Whom  does  the  crowd  await  ?  Giordano  Bruno — the  poet, 
philosopher,  and  heretic — the  teacher  of  Galileo's  heresy — the 
friend  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  and  open  antagonist  of  Aristotle. 
Questions  pass  rapidly  to  and  fro  among  the  crowd ;  exultation 
is  on  every  face,  mingled  with  intense  curiosity.  Grave  men 
moralize  on  the  power  of  Satan  to  pervert  learning  and  talent  to 
evil :  Oh,  my  friends,  let  us  beware  ! — let  us  beware  of  learning ! 
let  us  beware  of  every  thing !  Bystanders  shake  significant 
heads.  A  hush  comes  over  the  crowd.  The  procession  solemn- 

*  In  this  Section  I  have  altered  and  abridged  an  essay  of  my  own  in  the 
British  Quarterly  Review. 


374  FROM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

ly  advances,  the  soldiers  peremptorily  clearing  the  way  for  it. 
"Look,  there  he  is — there,  in  the  centre!  How  calm — how 
haughty  and  stubborn  !"  (women  whisper,  "  How  handsome !") 
His  large  eyes  are  turned  towards  us,  serene,  untroubled.  His 
face  is  placid,  though  so  pale.  They  offer  him  the  crucifix ;  he 
turns  aside  his  head — he  refuses  to  kiss  it !  "  The  heretic  !" 
They  show  him  the  image  of  Him  who  died  upon  the  cross  for 
the  sake  of  the  living  truth — he  refuses  the  symbol !  A  yell 
bursts  from  the  multitude. 

They  chain  him  to  the  stake.  He  remains  silent.  Will  he 
not  pray  for  mercy?  Will  he  not  recant?  Now  the  last  hour 
is  arrived — will  he  die  in  his  obstinacy,  when  a  little  hypocrisy 
would  save  him  from  so  much  agony  ?  It  is  even  so  :  he  is  stub 
born,  unalterable.  They  light  the  fagots ;  the  branches  crackle ; 
the  flame  ascends ;  the  victim  writhes — and  now  we  see  no  more. 
The  smoke  envelops  him ;  but  not  a  prayer,  not  a  plaint,  not  a 
single  cry  escapes  him.  In  a  little  while  the  wind  has  scattered 
the  ashes  of  Giordano  Bruno. 

The  martyrdom  of  Bruno  has  preserved  his  name  from  foiling 
into  the  same  neglect  as  his  writings.  Most  well-read  men  re 
member  his  name  as  that  of  one  who,  whatever  his  errors  might 
have  been,  perished  a  victim  of  intolerance.  But  the  extreme 
rarity  of  his  works,  aided  by  some  other  causes  into  which  it  is 
needless  here  to  enter,  has,  until  lately,  kept  even  the  most  curi 
ous  from  forming  any  acquaintance  with  them.  The  rarity  of 
the  writings  made  them  objects  of  bibliopolic  luxury  :  they  were 
the  black  swans  of  literature.  Three  hundred  florins  were  paid 
for  the  Spaccio,  in  Holland,  and  thirty  pounds  in  England. 
Jacobi's  mystical  friend,  Hamann,  searched  Italy  and  Germany 
in  vain  for  the  dialogues  De  la  Causa  and  De  V.lnfinito.  But 
in  1830,  Herr  Wagner,  after  immense  toil,  brought  out  his  valu 
able  edition  of  the  Italian  works,  and  since  then  students  have 
been  able  to  form  some  idea  of  the  Neapolitan  thinker.* 

*  Op  ere  di  Giordano  Bruno,  Nolarto,  ora  per  Id  prlma  xolta  raccolte  e  pub- 
bllcate  da,  Adolfo  Wagner.  2  vols.,  Leipzig,  1850 


GIORDANO    BRUNO.  375 

Giordano  Bruno  was  born  at  Nola,  in  La  Terra  di  Lavoro,  a 
few  miles  from  Naples,  and  midway  between  Vesuvius  and  the 
Mediterranean.*  The  date  of  his  birth  is  fixed  as  1550 — that  is 
to  say,  ten  years  after  the  death  of  Copernicus, — whose  system 
he  was  to  espouse  with  such  ardor, — and  ten  years  before  the 
birth  of  our  own  illustrious  Bacon.  Tasso  well  says : 

"  La  terra 
Simili  a  s£  gli  abitator'  produce  ;" 

and  Bruno  was  a  true  Neapolitan  child — as  ardent  as  its  volcanic 
soil,  burning  atmosphere,  and  dark  thick  wine  (mangia  guerra) 
— as  capricious  as  its  varied  climate.  There  was  a  restless  en 
ergy  which  fitted  him  to  become  the  preacher  of  a  new  crusade 
— urging  him  to  throw  a  haughty  defiance  in  the  face  of  every 
authority  in  every  country, — an  energy  which  closed  his  wild 
adventurous  career  at  the  stake  lighted  by  the  Inquisition.  He 
was  also  distinguished  by  a  rich  fancy,  a  varied  humor,  and  a 
chivalrous  gallantry,  which  constantly  remind  us  that  the  athlete 
is  an  Italian,  and  an  Italian  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Stern  as 
was  the  struggle,  he  never  allowed  the  grace  of  his  nature  to  be 
vanquished  by  its  vehemence.  He  went  forth  as  a  preacher; 
but  it  was  a  preacher  young,  handsome,  gay,  and  worldly — as  a 
poet,  not  as  a  fanatic. 

The  first  thing  we  hear  of  him  is  the  adoption  of  the  Domini 
can's  frock.  In  spite  of  his  ardent  temperament,  so  full  of  vigor 
ous  life,  he  shuts  himself  up  in  a  cloister, — allured,  probably,  by 
the  very  contrast  which  such  a  life  offered  to  his  own  energetic 
character.  Bruno  in  a  cloister  has  but  two  courses  open  to  him: 
either  all  that  affluent  energy  will  rush  into  some  stern  fanati 
cism,  and,  as  in  Loyola,  find  aliment  in  perpetual  self-combat,  and 
in  bending  the  wills  of  others  to  his  purposes ;  or  else  his  restless 
spirit  of  inquiry,  stimulated  by  avidity  for  glory,  will  startle  and 
irritate  his  superiors.  It  was  not  long  ere  the  course  was  decided. 


*  For  the  biographic  details  I  am  mainly  indebted  to  the  valuable  work  of 
M.  Christian  Bartholmess,  entitled  Jordano  Bruno,  2  vols.,  Paris,  1848. 


376  FROM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

He  began  to  doubt  the  mystery  of  transubstantiation.  Nay 
more  :  he  not  only  threw  doubt  upon  the  dogmas  of  the  Church, 
he  had  also  the  audacity  to  attack  the  pillar  of  all  faith,  the  great 
authority  of  the  age — Aristotle  himself.  The  natural  conse 
quences  ensued — he  was  feared  and  persecuted.  Unable  to  with 
stand  his  opponents,  he  fled.  Casting  aside  the  monkish  robe, 
which  clothed  hini  in  what  he  thought  a  falsehood,  he  fled  from 
Italy  at  the  very  moment  when  Montaigne,  having  finished  the 
first  part  ,of  his  immortal  Essays,  entered  it,  to  pay  a  visit  to  the 
unhappy  Tasso,  then  raving  in  an  hospital. 

Bruno  was  now  an  exile,  but  he  was  free ;  and  the  delight  he 
felt  at  his  release  maybe  read  in  several  passages  of  his  writings, 
especially  in  the  sonnet  prefixed  to  L1  Infinite : 

"  Uscito  di  prigione  angusta  e  nera, 
Ove  tanti  anni  error  stretto  m'  avvinse : 
Qua  lascio  la  catena,  che  mi  cinse, 
La  man  di  mia  nenrica  invida  e  fera."  etc. 

He  was  thirty  years  of  age  when  he  began  his  adventurous  course 
through  Europe — to  wage  single-handed  war  against  much  of 
the  falsehood,  folly,  and  corruption  of  his  epoch.  Like  his  great 
prototype,  Xenophanes,  who  wandered  over  Greece,  a  rhapsodist 
of  philosophy,  striving  to  awaken  mankind  to  a  recognition  of 
the  Deity  whom  they  degraded  by  their  dogmas,  and  like  his 
own  unhappy  rivals,  Campanella  and  Vanini,  Bruno  became  the 
knight-errant  of  truth,  ready  to  combat  all  comers  in  its  cause. 
His  life  was  a  battle  without  a  victory.  Persecuted  in  one  coun 
try,  he  fled  to  another — everywhere  sowing  the  seeds  of  revolt, 
everywhere  shaking  the  dynasty  of  received  opinion.  It  was  a 
strange  time, — to  every  earnest  man,  a  sad  and  almost  hopeless 
time.  The  Church  was  in  a  pitiable  condition — decaying  from 
within,  and  attacked  from  without.  The  lower  clergy  were  de 
graded  by  ignorance,  indolence,  and  sensuality ;  the  prelates,  if 
more  enlightened,  were  enlightened  only  as  epicures  and  pedants, 
swearing  by  the  Gods  of  Greece  and  Rome,  and  laboriously  imi 
tating  the  sonorous  roll  of  Ciceronian  periods.  The  Reformation 


GIORDANO    BRUNO.  377 

had  startled  the  world,  especially  the  ecclesiastical  world.  The 
Inquisition  was  vigilant  and  cruel ;  but  among  its  very  members 
were  skeptics.  Skepticism,  with  a  polish  of  hypocrisy,  was  the 
general  disease.  It  penetrated  almost  everywhere — from  the 
cloister  to  the  cardinal's  palace.  Skepticism,  however,  is  only  a 
transitory  disease.  Men  must  have  convictions.  Accordingly, 
in  all  ages,  we  see  skepticism  stimulating  new  reforms ;  and  re 
formers  were  not  wanting  in  the  sixteenth  century.  Of  the 
Lutheran  movement  it  is  needless  here  to  speak.  The  sixteenth 
century  marks  its  place  in  history  as  the  century  of  revolutions  : 
it  not  only  broke  the  chain  which  bound  Europe  to  Rome,  it 
also  broke  the  chain  which  bound  philosophy  to  Scholasticism 
and  Aristotle.  It  set  human  reason  free  ;  it  proclaimed  the  lib 
erty  of  thought  and  action.  In  the  vanguard  of  its  army,  we 
see  Telesio,  Campanella,  and  Bruno,  men  who  must  always  excite 
our  admiration  and  our  gratitude  for  their  cause  and  for  their 
courage.  They  fell  fighting  for  freedom  of  thought  and  utter 
ance — the  victims  of  a  fanaticism  the  more  odious  because  it  was 
not  the  rigor  of  belief,  but  of  pretended  belief.  They  fought  in 
those  early  days  of  the  great  struggle  between  science  and  pre 
judice,  when  Galileo  was  a  heretic,  and  when  the  implacable 
severity  of  dogmatism  baptized  in  blood  every  new  thought  born 
into  the  world. 

One  spirit  is  common  to  all  these  reformers,  however  various 
their  doctrines :  that  spirit  is  one  of  unhesitating  opposition  to 
the  dominant  authority.  It  is  the  crisis  of  the  Middle  Ages — 
the  modern  era  dawns  there.  In  the  fifteenth  century  men  were 
occupied  with  the  newly  awakened  treasures  of  ancient  learning : 
it  was  a  century  of  erudition  ;  the  past  was  worshipped  at  the  ex 
pense  of  the  present.  In  art,  in  philosophy,  and  in  religion,  men 
sought  to  restore  the  splendors  of  an  earlier  time.  Brunelleschi, 
Michael  Angelo,  Raphael,  disdaining  the  types  of  Gothic  art, 
strove  to  recall  once  more  the  classic  type.  Marsilio  Ficino, 
Mirandola,  Telesio,  and  Bruno,  discarding  the  subtleties  and  dis 
putes  of  Scholasticism,  endeavored  to  reproduce  Pythagoras, 


378  FKOM  PROCLUS  TO  BACON. 

Plato,  and  Plotinus.  In  religion,  Luther  and  Calvin,  avowedly 
rising  against  Papal  corruptions,  labored  to  restore  the  Church 
to  its  primitive  simplicity.  Thus  the  new  era  seemed  retrograde. 
It  is  often  so-.  The  recurrence  to  an  earlier  time  is  the  prepara 
tion  for  a  future.  We  cannot  leap  far,  leaping  from  the  spot 
where  we  stand ;  we  must  step  backwards  a  few  paces  to  acquire 
momentum. 

Giordano  Bruno  ceaselessly  attacked  Aristotle.  In  so  doing 
he  knew  that  he  grappled  with  the  Goliath  of  the  Church.  Aris 
totle  was  a  synonym  for  reason.  An  anagram  was  made  of  his 
name,  "  Aristoteles :  iste  sol  erat?  His  logic  and  physics,  to 
gether  with  the  Ptolemaic  system  of  astronomy,  were  then  con 
sidered  as  inseparable  portions  of  the  Christian  creed.  In  1624 
— a  quarter  of  a  century  after  Bruno's  martyrdom — the  Parlia 
ment  of  Paris  issued  a  decree  banishing  all  who  publicly  main 
tained  theses  against  Aristotle;  and  in  1629,  at  the  urgent 
remonstrance  of  the  Sorbonne,  decreed  that  to  contradict  the 
principles  of  Aristotle  was  to  contradict  the  Church  !  There  is 
an  anecdote  recorded  somewhere  of  a  student,  who,  having  de 
tected  spots  in  the  sun,  communicated  his  discovery  to  a  worthy 
priest :  "  My  son,"  replied  the  priest,  "  I  have  read  Aristotle 
many  times,  and  I  assure  you  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind  men 
tioned  by  him.  Go  rest  in  peace;  and  be  certain  that  the  spots 
which  you  have  seen  are  in  your  eyes,  and  not  in  the  sun." 
When  Kamus  solicited  the  permission  of  Beza  to  teach  in  Ge 
neva,  he  was  told,  "  the  Genovese  have  decreed  once  for  all,  that 
neither  in  logic,  nor  in  any  other  branch  of  knowledge,  will  they 
depart  from  the  opinions  of  Aristotle — ne  tantillum  quidem  ab 
Aristotelis  sentintia  deflectere"  It  is  well  known  that  the  Stagi- 
rite  narrowly  escaped  being  canonized  as  a  Saint.  Are  you  for 
or  against  Aristotle  ?  was  Hie  question  of  philosophy  ;  and  the 
piquant  aspect  of  this  dpjoVorsXsGjxa^ia  is  the  fact  that  both  par 
ties  were  often  ignorant  of  the  real  opinions  of  the  Stagirite ;  at 
tributing  to  him  indeed  doctrines  the  very  reverse  of  what  a  more 
ample  knowledge  of  his  writings  has  shown  to  have  been  his. 


GIORDANO    BRUNO.  379 

Bruno,  as  we  said,  took  his  stand  opposite  to  tlie  Aristotelians. 
Pythagoras,  Plato,  and  Plotinus  were  his  teachers.  Something 
of  temperament  may  have  originated  this ;  for  Bruno  undoubt 
edly  belongs  to  that  class  of  thinkers  in  whom  logic  is  but  the 
handmaid  of  Imagination  and  Fancy.  To  him  the  Aristotle  of 
that  age  was  antipathetic.  The  Aristotelians  taught  that  the 
world  was  finite,  and  the  heavens  incorruptible.  Bruno  declared 
the  world  to  be  infinite,  and  subject  to  an  eternal  and  universal 
revolution.  The  Aristotelians  proclaimed  the  immobility  of  the 
earth  :  Bruno  proclaimed  its  rotation.  Such  open  dissidence 
could  of  course  only  enrage  the  party  in  power.  It  would  have 
been  sufficiently  audacious  to  promulgate  such  absurdities — hor- 
renda  prorsus  absurdissima — as  the  rotation  of  the  earth  ;  but  to 
defy  Aristotle  and  ridicule  his  logic,  could  only  proceed  from  in 
sanity,  or  impiety.  So  Bruno  had  to  fly. 

To  Geneva  he  first  directed  his  steps.  Bui  there  the  power 
which  had  proved  stronger  than  the  partisans  of  Servetus,  was 
still  dominant.  He  made  his  escape  to  Toulouse ;  there  he 
raised  a  storm  among  the  Aristotelians,  such  as  compelled  him 
to  fly  to  Paris.  Behold  him  then  in  Paris,  the  streets  of  which 
were  still  slippery  with  the  blood  of  the  Eve  of  St.  Bartholomew. 
One  expects  to  see  him  butchered  without  mercy ;  but,  by  some 
good  fortune,  he  obtains  the  favor  of  Henry  III.,  who  not  only 
permits  him  to  lecture  at  the  Sorbonne,  but  offers  to  admit  him 
as  a  salaried  professor,  if  Bruno  will  but  attend  Mass.  Is  it  not 
strange  that  at  a  time  when  attendance  at  Mass  was  so  serious  a 
matter, — when  the  echoes  of  that  lugubrious  cry,  la  Messe  ou  la 
mort!  which  had  resounded  through  those  narrow  murky  streets, 
must  have  been  still  ringing  in  men's  ears, — Bruno,  in  spite  of 
his  refusal,  not  only  continued  to  lecture,  but  became  exceeding 
ly  popular  ?  Since  Abelard  had  captivated  the  students  of  Paris 
with  his  facile  eloquence  and  startling  novelties,  no  teacher  had 
been  so  enthusiastically  received  as  Bruno.  Young,  handsome, 
eloquent,  and  facetious,  he  charmed  by  his  manner  no  less  than 
by  his  matter.  Adopting  by  turns  every  form  of  address — rising 


380  FROM  PROCLUS  TO  BACON. 

into  the  aerial  altitudes  of  imagination,  or  descending  into  the 
kennel  of  obscenity  and  buffoonery — now  grave,  prophet-like,  and 
impassioned — now  fierce  and  controversial — now  fanciful  and 
humorous — he  threw  aside  all  the  monotony  of  professional 
gravity,  to  speak  to  them  as  a  man.  He  did  not  on  this 
occasion  venture  openly  to  combat  the  prejudices  and  doc 
trines  of  the  age ;  that  was  reserved  for  his  second  visit,  after 
he  had  learned  in  England  to  speak  as  became  a  free  and  earn 
est  man. 

To  England  let  us  follow  him.  On  the  misty  banks  of  our 
noble  Thames,  he  was  rudely  initiated  into  the  brutality  of  the 
English  character ;  but  he  was  amply  compensated  by  his  recep 
tion  at  the  Court  of  Elizabeth,  where  a  friendly  welcome  awaited 
all  foreigners — especially  Italians.  Nor  was  his  southern  heart 
cold  to  the  exquisite  beauty  and  incomparable  grace  of  our  wo 
men.  England  was  worth  visiting ;  and  he  had  reason  to  refer 
with  pride  to  "  questo  paese  Brittannico  a  cui  doviamo  la  fedelta 
ed  amore  ospitale."  It  was  in  England  he  published  the  greater 
part  of  his  Italian  works.  It  was  here  perhaps  that  the  serenest 
part  of  his  life  was  spent.  Patronized  by  the  Queen  ("  Tunica 
Diana  qual  e  tra  voi,  qual  che  tra  gli  astri  il  sole,"  as  he  calls 
her),  he  had  the  glory  and  the  happiness  to  call  Sir  Philip  Sid 
ney  friend. 

In  the  high  communion  of  noble  minds,  in  the  interchange  of 
great  thoughts  and  glorious  aspirations,  another  than  Bruno 
might  have  been  content  to  leave  the  world  and  all  its  errors  in 
peace ;  but  he  had  that  within  him  which  would  not  suffer  him 
to  be  at  rest.  He  could  not  let  the  world  wag  on  its  way,  con 
tent  to  smile  on  its  errors.  He  had  a  mission — without  the  cant 
of  a  mission.  He  was  a  soldier,  and  had  his  battles  to  fight.  In 
the  society  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Sir  Fulke  Greville,  Dyer,  Harvey, 
and  most  probably  of  Antonio  Perez  and  Shakspeare's  Florio, 
Bruno  might  have  discussed  with  calmness  every  question  of  phi 
losophy, — that  is,  had  he  been  of  an  epicurean  turn — had  he  not 
been  Bruno.  As  it  was,  lured  by  his  passion  for  publicity — by 


GIORDANO   BRUNO.  381 

his  vanity,  no  less  than  by  his  love  of  truth — he  rushed  into  the 

arena, 

"Confident  as  is  the  falcon's  flight." 

If  we  attribute  to  him  motives  not  altogether  pure — if  we  see  as 
much  ostentation  as  devotion  in  this  conduct,  let  it  be  remem 
bered,  that  in  this  life  the  great  aims  of  humanity  are  worked 
out  by  human  means,  wherein  the  impure  and  selfish  are  as  much 
vital  elements  as  the  noble.  In  the  great  mechanism  there  are 
numberless  trivial  wheels,  and  littleness  is  often  the  accessory 
spring  of  some  heroic  act.  This  is  no  concession  to  the  school 
of  Rochefoucauld.  That  school  makes  the  great  mistake  of  at 
tributing  the  splendor  of  the  sun  to  its  spots, — of  deriving  the 
greatness  of  human  nature  from  its  littleness.  A  selfish  impulse 
will  often  mingle  with  the  unselfish  impulses  which  prompt  an 
heroic  act.  We  have  only  to  reflect  on  the  numerous  instances 
of  selfish  impulse  unaccompanied  by  any  heroism,  to  be  assured 
that  if  selfishness  and  disinterestedness  may  be  found  conjoined 
in  the  mingled  woof  of  human  nature,  it  in  nowise  alters  the 
fact  of  disinterestedness,  it  in  nowise  lessens  the  worthiness  of 
heroism.  What  philosophy  is  that  which  sees  only  vanity  in 
martyrdom,  only  love  of  applause  in  the  daring  proclamation  of 
truth  1  Gold  without  dross  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  earth  ;  but 
is  it  therefore  copper  ? 

Let  us  follow  Bruno's  course  with  other  feelings  than  those  of 
a  short-sighted  philosophy.  It  was  not  very  long  after  his  arrival 
in  England  (1583),  that  Leicester,  then  Chancellor  of  Oxford, 
gave  that  splendid  f£te  in  honor  of  the  County  Palatine  Albert 
de  Lasco,  of  which  the  annals  of  Oxford  and  the  works  of  Bruno 
have  preserved  some  details.  In  those  days  a  foreigner  was 
"  lionized"  in  a  more  grandiose  style  than  modern  Amphitryons 
attempt.  It  was  not  deemed  sufficient  to  ask  the  illustrious  stran 
ger  to  "  breakfast;"  there  were  no  "  dinners"  given  in  public,  or  at 
the  club.  The  age  of  tournaments  had  passed  away ;  but  there 
were  still  the  public  discussions,  which  were  a  sort  of  passage-of- 
arms  between  the  knights  of  intellect.  And  such  a  tourney  had 


382  FROM  PROCLUS  TO  BACON. 

Leicester  prepared  in  honor  of  the  Pole.  Oxford  called  upon 
her  doughty  men  to  brighten  up  their  arms, — that  is  to  say,  to 
shake  the  dust  from  their  volumes  of  Aristotle, — and  all  comers 
were  challenged.  Bruno  stepped  into  the  arena.  Oxford  chose 
her  best  men  to  combat  for  Aristotle  and  Ptolemy.  On  that 
cause  her  existence  seemed  to  depend.  Her  statutes  declared 
that  the  Bachelors  and  Masters  of  Arts  who  did  not  faithfully 
follow  Aristotle,  were  liable  to  a  fine  of  five  shillings  for  every 
point  of  divergence,  or  for  every  fault  committed  against  the 
Organon.  Bruno  wittily  called  Oxford  the  widow  of  sound 
learning — "  la  vedova  di  buone  lettere." 

The  details  of  this  "  wit  combat"  are  unknown  to  us.  Bruno 
declares  that  fifteen  times  did  he  stop  the  mouth  of  his  pitiable 
adversary,  who  could  only  reply  by  abuse.*  But  there  is  con 
siderable  forfanterie  about  the  Neapolitan,  and  such  statements 
must  be  received  with  caution.  That  he  created  a  "  sensation," 
we  have  no  doubt ;  but  his  doctrines  were  sufficiently  startling. 
We  also  find  him,  on  the  strength  of  that  success,  soliciting  per 
mission  of  the  Oxford  Senate  to  profess  openly.  With  his  usual 
arrogance,  he  styles  himself,  in  this  address,  as  a  "  doctor  of  a 
more  perfect  theology,  and  professor  of  a  purer  wisdom,"  than 
was  there  taught.  Strange  as  it  may  appear,  permission  was 
granted ;  probably  because  he  had  the  patronage  of  Elizabeth. 
He  lectured  on  cosmology,  and  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul : 
a  doctrine  which  he  maintained,  not  upon  the  principles  of  Ar 
istotle,  but  upon  those  of  the  Neo-Platonists,  who  regarded  this 
life  as  a  brief  struggle,  a  sort  of  agony  of  death,  through  which 
the  soul  must  pass  ere  it  attains  to  the  splendor  of  existence  in 

*  "  Andate  in  Oxoaia  e  fatevi  raccontar  le  cose  intravenute  al  Nolano  quan- 
do  pubblicamente  disputo  con  que'  dottori  in  teologia  in  presenza  del  Prin 
cipe  Alasco  Polacco,  et  altri  de  la  nobilita  inglese  !  Fatevi  dire  come  si  sapea 
rispondere  a  gli  argomenti,  come  resto  per  quindici  sillogismi  quindici  volte 
qual  pnloino  entro  la  stoppa  quel  povero  dottor,  die  come  il  corifeo  de  1'  ac- 
cademia  ne  puosero  avanti  in  questa  grave  occasione  !  Fatevi  dire  con  quanta 
incivilita  e  discortesia  procedea  quel  porco,  e  con  quanta  pazienza  et  umanita 
quell'  altro,  die  in  fatto  mostrava  essere  Napoletano  nato  et  allevato  sotto  piu 
benigno  cielo !" — La  Gena  de  le  Generi:  Opp.  Ital.  ii.  179. 


GIORDANO    BRUNO.  383 

the  eternal  and  universal  life.  In  the  deep  unquenchable  desire 
which  is  within  us  to  unite  ourselves  with  God,  and  to  quit  this 
miserable  sphere  for  the  glorious  regions  of  eternity,  is  the  writ 
ten  conviction  of  our  future  existence.  No  doubt  he  preached 
this  doctrine  with  stirring  eloquence ;  but  it  must  have  sounded 
very  heterodox  in  the  ears  of  that  wise  conclave — styled  by 
Bruno  "  a  constellation  of  pedants,  whose  ignorance,  presump 
tion,  and  rustic  rudeness  would  have  exhausted  the  patience  of 
Job" — and  they  soon  put  an  end  to  his  lectures.* 

We  have  already  intimated  the  protection  which  Elizabeth 
accorded  him,  and  which  he  repaid  by  adulation,  extravagant 
enough,  but  which  was  then  the  current  style  in  speaking  of 
royalty ;  and  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  this  praise  of  a 
Protestant  Queen  was  not  among  the  least  of  his  crimes  in  the 
eyes  of  his  accusers.  Still,  even  Elizabeth  could  not  protect  a 
heretic;  and  Bruno's  audacious  eloquence  roused  such  opposition, 
that  he  was  forced  to  quit  England.  He  returned  to  Paris,  once 
more  to  court  the  favor  of  the  Quartier  Latin.  He  obtained 
permission  to  open  a  public  disputation  on  the  physics  of  Aris 
totle.  For  three  successive  days  did  this  dispute  continue,  in 
which  the  great  questions  of  nature,  the  universe,  and  the  rota 
tion  of  the  earth,  were  discussed.  Bruno  had  thrown  aside  the 
veil,  and  presented  his  opinions  naked  to  the  gaze.  His  impet 
uous  onslaught  upon  established  opinions,  produced  the  natural 
result :  he  was  forced  again  to  fly. 

We  next  find  him  in  Germany,  carrying  the  spirit  of  innova 
tion  into  its  august  universities.  In  July,  1586,  he  matriculated 
as  theologice  doctor  Romanensis,  in  the  university  of  Marburg,  in 
Hesse ;  but  permission  to  teach  philosophy  was  refused  him  ob 
arduas  causas.  Whereupon  he  insulted  the  Rector  in  his  own 
house,  created  a  disturbance,  and  insisted  that  his  name  should 
be  struck  off  from  the  list  of  members  of  the  University.  He 
set  off  for  Wiirtemberg.  His  reception  in  this  centre  of  Luther- 

*  Vide  Cena  de  le  Ceneri. 


384:  FROM    PKOCLUS    TO    BACON. 

anism  was  so  gratifying,  that  he  styled  Wiirtemberg  the  Athens 
of  Germany.  "  Your  justice,"-  he  writes  to  the  Senate,  "  has  re 
fused  to  listen  to  the  insinuations  circulated  against  my  character 
and  my  opinions.  You  have,  with  admirable  impartiality,  per 
mitted  me  to  attack  with  vehemence  that  philosophy  of  Aristotle 
which  you  prize  so  highly."  For  two  years  did  he  teach  there 
with  noisy  popularity,  yet  on  the  whole  with  tolerable  prudence, 
in  not  speaking  against  the  peculiar  views  of  Lutheranism.  He 
even  undertook  a  defence  of  Satan  ;  but  whether  in  that  spirit 
of  pity  which  moved  Burns,  or  whether  in  the  spirit  of  buffoon 
ery  which  delights  to  play  with  awful  subjects,  we  have  no  means 
of  ascertaining.  He  did  not  offend  his  audience,  in  whatever 
spirit  he  treated  the  subject. 

Here,  then,  in  Wiirtemberg,  with  admiring  audiences  and  free 
scope  for  discussion,  one  might  fancy  he  would  be  at  rest.  Why 
should  he  leave  so  enviable  a  position  ?  Simply  because  he  was 
not  a  man  to  rest  in  ease  and  quiet.  He  was  possessed  with  the 
spirit  of  a  reformer,  and  this  urged  him  to  carry  his  doctrines 
into  other  cities.  Characteristic  of  his  audacity  is  the  next  step 
he  took.  From  Wiirtemberg  he  went  to  Prague ;  from  the  cen- 
dre  of  Lutheranism  to  the  centre  of  Catholicism  !  In  this  he  had 
reckoned  too  much  on  his  own  powers.  He  met  with  neither 
sympathy  nor  support  in  Prague.  He  then  passed  on  to  Helm- 
stadt,  where  his  fame  having  preceded  him,  the  Duke  of  Bruns 
wick  conferred  upon  him  the  honorable  charge  of  educating  the 
hereditary  Duke.  Here  again,  if  he  had  consented  to  remain 
quiet,  he  might  have  been  what  the  world  calls  "  successful ;" 
but  he  was  troubled  with  convictions — things  so  impedimental  to 
success ! — and  these  drew  down  upon  him  a  sentence  of  excom 
munication.  He  justified  himself,  indeed,  and  the  sentence  was 
removed ;  but  he  was  not  suffered  to  remain  in  Helmstadt ;  so 
he  passed  to  Frankfort,  and  there  in  quiet,  brief  retirement,  pub 
lished  three  of  his  Latin  works.  Here  a  blank  occurs  in  his  an 
nals.  When  next  we  hear  of  him  he  is  at  Padua. 

After  an  absence  of  ten  years,  the  wanderer  returns  to  Italy. 


GIORDANO   BRUNO.  385 

In  his  restless  course,  he  has  traversed  Switzerland,  France,  Eng 
land,  and  Germany;  his  hand  against  every  man,  and  every 
man's  hand  against  him.  Heretic  and  innovator,  he  has  irritated 
the  clergy  without  securing  the  protection  of  philosophers.  He 
has  sought  no  protection  but  that  of  truth.  That  now  he  should 
choose  Padua  above  all  places,  must  ever  excite  our  astonish 
ment.  Padua,  where  Aristotle  reigns  supreme  !  Padua,  which 
is  overshadowed  by  Venice  and  the  Inquisition  !  Was  he  weary 
of  life,  that  he  thus  marched  into  the  camp  of  his  enemy  ?  or 
did  he  rely  on  the  force  of  his  convictions  and  the  vigor  of  his 
eloquence  to  triumph  even  in  Padua  ?  None  can  say.  He  came 
— he  taught — he  fled.  Venice  received  him, — but  it  was  in  her 
terrible  prison.  Lovers  of  coincidences  will  find  a  piquant  illus 
tration  in  the  fact,  that  at  the  very  moment  when  Bruno  was 
thrown  into  prison,  Galileo  opened  his  course  of  mathematics  at 
Padua ;  and  the  six  years  in  which  Galileo  occupied  that  mathe 
matical  chair,  were  the  six  years  Bruno  spent  in  miserable  captivity. 
Bruno's  arrest  was  no  sooner  effected,  than  intimation  of  it 
was  sent  to  the  Grand  Inquisitor  San  Severina,  at  Rome,  who 
ordered  that  the  prisoner  should  be  sent  to  him,  under  escort,  on 
the  first  opportunity.  Thomas  Morosini  presented  himself  before 
the  Savi  of  Venice,  and  demanded,  in  the  name  of  his  Emi 
nence,  that  Bruno  should  be  delivered  up  to  him.  "  That  man," 
said  he,  "  is  not  only  a  heretic,  but  an  heresiarch.  He  has  writ 
ten  works  in  which  he  highly  lauds  the  Queen  of  England  and  other 
heretical  princes.  He  has  written  diverse  things  touching  religion, 
which  are  contrary  to  the  faith."  The  Savi,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  declined  to  give  up  their  prisoner,  saying  the  matter  was 
too  important  for  them  to  take  a  sudden  resolution.  Was  this 
mercy  ?  Was  it  cruelty  ?  In  effect,  it  was  cruelty ;  for  Bruno 
languished  six  years  in  the  prisons  of  Venice,  and  only  quitted 
them  to  perish  at  the  stake.  Six  long  years  of  captivity — worse 
than  any  death.  To  one  so  ardent,  solitude  itself  was  punishment. 
He  wanted  to  be  among  men,  to  combat,  to  argue,  to  live ;  and 
he  was  condemned  to  the  fearful  solitudes  of  that  prison,  without 

17 


386  FKOM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

books,  without  paper,  without  friends.    Such  was  the  repose  which 
the  weary  wanderer  found  on  his  native  soil. 

His  prison  doors  were  at  length  opened,  and  he  was  removed 
to  Rome,  there  to  undergo  a  tedious  and  fruitless  examination. 
Of  what  use  was  it  to  call  upon  him  to  retract  his  opinions? 
The  attempt  to  convince  him  was  more  rational ;  but  it  failed. 
The  tiresome  debate  was  needlessly  prolonged.  Finding  him 
insensible  to  their  threats  and  to  their  logic,  they  brought  him, 
on  the  9th  of  February,  to  the  palace  of  San  Severino;  and 
there,  in  the  presence  of  the  cardinals  and  most  illustrious  theo 
logians,  he  was  forced  to  kneel  and  receive  the  sentence  of  ex 
communication.  That  sentence  passed,  he  was  handed  over  to 
the  secular  authorities,  with  a  recommendation  of  a  "punish 
ment  as  merciful  as  possible,  and  without  effusion  of  blood" — the 
ut  quam  dementis  sim^  et  citra,  sanguinis  effasionem  puniretur — 
the  atrocious  formula  for  burning  alive. 

Calm  and  dignified  was  the  bearing  of  the  victim  during  the 
whole  of  this  scene.  It  impressed  even  his  persecutors.  On 
hearing  his  sentence,  one  phrase  alone  disturbed  the  unalterable 
serenity  of  his  demeanor.  Raising  his  head  with  haughty  supe 
riority,  he  said,  "  I  suspect  you  pronounce  this  sentence  with 
more  fear  than  I  receive  it."  A  delay  of  one  week  was  accorded 
to  him,  in  the  expectation  that  fear  might  force  a  retractation; 
but  the  week  expired,  and  Bruno  remained  immovable.  He  per 
ished  at  the  stake ;  but  he  died  in  the  martyr  spirit,  self-sus 
tained  and  silent,  welcoming  death  as  the  appointed  passage  to 
a  higher  life. 

"  Fendo  i  cieli  e  a  1'  infinite  m'  ergo." 

Bruno  perished,  the  victim  of  intolerance.  It  is  impossible  to 
read  of  such  a  punishment  without  strong  indignation  and  dis 
gust.  There  is,  indeed,  no  page  in  the  annals  of  mankind  which 
we  would  more  willingly  blot  out,  than  those  upon  which  fanat 
icism  has  written  its  bloody  history.  Frivolous  as  have  often 
been  the  pretexts  for  shedding  blood,  none  are  more  abhorrent 
to  us  than  those  founded  upon  religious  differences.  Surely  the 


GIORDANO   BRUNO.  387 

question  of  religion  is  awful  enough  in  itself!  Men  have  the 
deepest  possible  interest  in  ascertaining  the  truth  of  it;  and  if 
they  cannot  read  the  problem  aright  by  the  light  of  their  own 
convictions,  will  it  be  made  more  legible  by  the  light  of  an  auto- 
da-fe  ?  Tolerance  is  still  far  from  being  a  general  virtue ;  but 
what  scenes  of  struggle,  of  violence,  and  of  persecution,  has  the 
world  passed  through,  before  even  the  present  modicum  of  tol 
erance  could  be  gained !  In  the  sixteenth  century,  free  thought 
was  a  crime.  The  wisest  men  were  bitterly  intolerant ;  the 
mildest,  cruel.  Campanella  tells  us  that  he  was  fifty  times  im 
prisoned,  and  seven  times  put  to  the  torture,  for  daring  to  think 
otherwise  than  those  in  power.  It  was,  indeed,  the  age  of  per 
secution.  That  which  made  it  so  bloody,  was  the  vehemence  of 
the  struggle  between  the  old  world  and  the  new — between 
thought  and  established  dogma — between  science  and  tradition. 
In  every  part  of  Europe — in  Rome  itself — men  uprose  to  utter 
their  new  doctrines,  and  to  shake  off  the  chains  which  enslaved 
human  intellect.  It  was  the  first  great  crisis  in  modern  history, 
and  we  read  its  progress  by  the  bonfires  lighted  in  every  town. 
The  glare  of  the  stake  reddened  a  sky  illumined  by  the  fair  au 
roral  light  of  Science. 

Did  Bruno  deserve  to  die  ?  According  to  the  notions  of  that 
age,  he  certainly  did ;  though  historians  have,  singularly  enough, 
puzzled  themselves  in  the  search  after  an  adequate  motive  for  so 
severe  a  punishment.  He  had  praised  heretical  princes ;  he  had 
reasoned  philosophically  on  matters  of  faith — properly  the  sub 
jects  of  theology ;  he  had  proclaimed  liberty  of  thought,  and  in 
vestigation  ;  he  had  disputed  the  infallibility  of  the  Church  in 
science ;  he  had  propagated  such  heresies  as  the  rotation  of  the 
earth,  and  the  infinity  of  worlds ;  he  had  refused  to  attend  Mass ; 
he  had  repeated  many  buffooneries  then  circulating,  which  threw 
contempt  upon  sacred  things ;  finally,  he  had  taught  a  system 
of  Pantheism,  which  was  altogether  opposed  to  Christianity. 
He  had  done  all  this ;  and  whoever  knows  the  sixteenth  century, 
will  see  that  such  an  innovator  had  no  chance  of  escape.  Ac- 


388  FROM  PROCLUS  TO  BACON. 

cordingly,  the  flames  (as  Scioppius  sarcastically  wrote  in  describ 
ing  the  execution  to  a  friend)  "  carried  him  to  those  worlds  which 
he  imagined." 

"  As  men  die,  so  they  walk  among  posterity,"  is  the  felicitous 
remark  of  Monckton  Milnes ;  and  Bruno,  like  many  other  men,  is 
better  remembered  for  his  death  than  for  any  thing  he  did  while 
living.  The  flames  which  consumed  his  body  have  embalmed 
his  name.  He  knew  it  would  be  so — "  La  morte  d'  un  secolo  fa 
vivo  in  tutti  gli  altri." 

Considered  as  a  system  of  philosophy,  we  cannot  hesitate  in 
saying  that  Bruno's  has  only  an  historical,  not  an  intrinsic  value. 
Its  condemnation  is  written  in  the  fact  of  its  neglect.  But  taken 
historically,  his  works  are  very  curious,  and  still  more  so  when 
we  read  them  with  a  biographical  interest ;  for  they  not  only 
illustrate  the  epoch,  but  exhibit  the  man — exhibit  his  impetuos 
ity,  recklessness,  vanity,  imagination,  buffoonery,  his  thoroughly 
Neapolitan  character,  and  his  sincere  love  of  truth.  Those  who 
wish  to  see  grave  subjects  treated  with  dignity,  will  object  to  the 
license  he  allows  himself,  and  will  have  no  tolerance  for  the  bad 
taste  he  so  often  displays.  But  we  should  rather  look  upon  these 
works  as  the  rapid  productions  of  a  restless  athlete — as  the  im 
provisations  of  a  full,  ardent,  but  irregular  mind,  in  an  age  when 
taste  was.  less  fastidious  than  it  has  since  become.  If  Bruno 
mingled  buffooneries  and  obscenities  with  grave  and  weighty 
topics,  he  therein  only  follows  the  general  license  of  that  age ; 
and  we  must  extend  to  him  the  same  forgiveness  as  to  Bembo, 
Ariosto,  Tansillo,  and  the  rest.  Plato  himself  is  not  wholly  ex 
empt  from  the  same  defect. 

In  adopting  the  form  of  dialogue,  Bruno  also,  followed  the 
taste  of  his  age.  It  is  a  form  eminently  suited  to  polemical  sub 
jects  ;  and  all  his  works  were  polemical.  It  enabled  him  to  rid 
icule  by  turns  the  pedants,  philosophers,  and  theologians ;  and 
to  enunciate  certain  doctrines  which  evea  his  temerity  would 
have  shrunk  from,  had  he  not  been  able  to  place  them  in  the 
mouth  of  another.  He  makes,  his  dialogues  far  more  entertain- 


GIORDANO   BRUNO.  389 

ing  than  works  of  metaphysics  usually  are ;  and  this  he  does  by 
digressions,  by  ridicule,  by  eloquence,  and  a  liberal  introduction 
of  sonnets.  Sometimes  his  very  vivacity  becomes  wearisome. 
The  reader  is  stunned  and  bewildered  by  the  remorseless  torrent 
of  substantives  and  epithets  which  pours  from  his  too  prolific 
pen.  There  is  nobody  to  rival  him,  but  Rabelais,  in  this  flux  of 
words.*  His  great  butts  are  the  clergy,  and  the  philosophers. 
He  reproaches  the  former  with  ignorance,  avarice,  hypocrisy,  and 
the  desire  to  stifle  inquiry  and  prolong  the  reign  of  ignorance. 
The  philosophers  he  reproaches  with  blind  adherence  to  author 
ity,  with  stupid  reverence  for  Aristotle  and  Ptolemy,  and  with 
slavish  imitation  of  antiquity.  It  should  be  observed  that  he 
does  not  so  much  decry  Aristotle,  as  the  idolatry  of  Aristotle.f 
Against  the  pedantry  of  that  pedantic  age  he  is  always  hurling 
his  thunders.  "  If,"  says  he,  in  one  place,  characterizing  the 
pedant,  "  he  laughs,  he  calls  himself  Democritus ;  if  he  weeps,  it 
is  with  Heraclitus ;  when  he  argues,  he  is  Aristotle ;  when  he 
combines  chimeras,  he  is  Plato ;  when  he  stutters,  he  is  Demos 
thenes."  That  Bruno's  scorn  sprang  from  no  misology,  his  own 
varied  erudition  proves.  But  while  he  studied  the  ancients  to 
extract  from  them  such  eternal  truths  as  were  buried  amidst  a 
mass  of  error,  they,  the  pedants,  only  studied  how  to  deck  them 
selves  in  borrowed  plumes. 

Turning  from  manner  to  matter,  we  must  assign  to  Bruno  a 
place  in  the  history  of  philosophy,  as  a  successor  of  the  Neo- 
Platonists,  and  the  precursor  of  Spinoza,  Descartes,  Leibnitz,  and 

*  To  give  the  reader  a  taste  of  this  quality,  we  will  cite  a  sentence  from 
the  dedicatory  epistle  to  Gil  Eroici  Farori :  "  Che  spettacolo,  o  Dio  buono  ! 
piu  vile  e  ignobile  puo  presentarsi  ad  un  occhio  di  terso  sentimento,  che  un 
uomo  cogitabundo,  afflitto,  tormentato,  triste,  maninconioso,  per  divenir  or 
freddo,  or  caldo,  or  fervente,  or  tremante,  or  pallido,  or  rosso,  or  in  mina  di 
pcrplesso,  or  in  atto  dirisoluto,  un,  che  spende  il  miglior  intervallo  di  tempo 
destillando  1'  elixir  del  cervello  con  mettere  scritto  e  sigillar  in  pubblici  mon- 
ximenti,  quelle  continue  torture,  que'  gravi  tormenti,  que'  razionali  discorsi, 
que'  fatuosi  pensieri,  e  quelli  amarissimi  studi,  destinati  sotto  la  tirannide 
d'  una  indegna  imbecille  stolta  e  sozza  sporcaria?"  Thus  it  continues  for 
some  fifty  lines  more! — Opp.  Ital.  ii.  299. 

t  Vide  Oj.)p.  Ital.  ii.  67,  where  this  is  explicitly  stated. 


390  FROM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

Schelling.  That  Spinoza  and  Descartes  were  actually  conversant 
with  the  writings  of  Giordano  Bruno,  does  not  distinctly  appear. 
Yet  it  is  not  to  be  disputed  that  Bruno  anticipated  Spinoza 
in  his  conception  of  the  immanence  of  the  Deity,  in  his  famous 
natura  naturans  and  natura  naturata,  and  in  his  pantheistic 
theory  of  evolution.  He  also  anticipated  Descartes'  famous  cri- 
terium  of  truth,  viz.  that  whatever  is  clear  and  evident  to  the 
mind,  and  does  not  admit  of  contradiction,  must  be  true  ;  and  in 
his  proclamation  of  Doubt  as  opposed  to  Authority,  he  thus  in 
sists  upon  Doubt  as  the  starting-point :  "  Chi  vuol  perfettamente 
giudicare  deve  saper  spogliarsi  de  la  consuetudine  di  credere,  deve 
T  una  e  V  altre  contradittoria  esistimare  egualmente  possibile,  e 
dismettere  afatto  quelf  affezione  di  cui  e  imbibeto  da  nativita"* 
Leibnitz  was  avowedly  acquainted  with  Bruno's  works,  and  de 
rived  therefrom  his  theory  of  monads.  Schelling  makes  no  secret 
of  his  obligations. 

There  is  another  merit  in  Bruno  which  should  not  be  over 
looked,  that,  namely,  of  giving  a  strong  impulse  to  the  study  of 
Nature.  Occupied  with  Syllogisms  about  entities  and  quiddities, 
the  philosophy  of  the  Middle  Ages  had  missed  the  great  truth 
that  "  man  is  the  minister  and  interpreter  of  nature."  Philoso 
phy  taught  that  the  interpretation  could  proceed  only  from 
within  ;  that  men  were  to  look  into  their  own  minds  to  analyze, 
subdivide,  and  classify  their  own  ideas,  instead  of  looking  forth 
into  Nature,  and  patiently  observing  her  processes.f  Bruno  was 
one  of  the  first  to  call  men  out  into  the  free  air.  With  his  poet 
ical  instinct,  he  naturally  looked  to  Nature  as  the  great  book  for 
man  to  read.  He  deified  Nature  ;  and  looked  upon  the  Universe 
as  the  garment  of  God,  as  the  incarnation  of  the  divine  activity. 
Let  not  this  be  misunderstood,  however.  If  Bruno  embraced 

*  De  P  Infinite  Unwerso  e  Mondi:  Opp.  Ital.  ii.  84. 

t  It  is  of  them  Telesio  energetically  says  :  "  Sed  veluti  cum  Deo  de  sapi- 
entia  contendentes  decertantesque,  mnndi  ipsius  principia  et  cuusas  ratione  in- 
quirere  ausi,  et  quae  non  invenerant,  inventa  ea  sibi  esse  existimantes,  volen- 
tesque,  veluti  suo  arbitratu,  mundum  affluxere." — De  Rerum  Natura  in 
Prooem. 


GIORDANO    BRUNO.  391 

the  Copernican  theory,  and  combated  the  general  physics  of  his 
day,  he  is  not,  on  that  account,  to  be  mistaken  for  a  man  of  sci 
entific  Method.  He  espoused  the  correct  view  of  the  earth's 
sphericity  and  rotation ;  but  he  did  so  on  the  faith  of  his  meta 
physical  theories,  not  on  rigorous  induction. 

Bruno's  creed  was  Pantheism.  God  was  the  Infinite  Intelli 
gence,  the  Cause  of  Causes,  the  Principle  of  all  life  and  mind ; 
the  great  Activity,  whose  action  we  name  the  Universe.  But 
God  did  not  create  the  universe ;  he  informed  it  with  life — with 
being.  He  is  the  universe ;  but  only  as  the  cause  is  the  effect, 
sustaining  it,  causing  it,  but  not  limited  by  it.  He  is  self-exist 
ing,  yet  so  essentially  active  as  incessantly  to  manifest  himself  as 
a  Cause.  Between  the  supreme  Being  and  the  inferior  beings 
dependent  upon  him,  there  is  this  distinction :  He  is  absolutely 
simple,  without  parts.  He  is  one  whole,  identical  and  universal ; 
whereas  the  others  are  mere  individual  parts,  distinct  from  the 
great  Whole.  Above  and  beyond  the  visible  universe  there  is 
an  Infinite  Invisible, — an  immovable,  unalterable  Identity,  which 
rules  over  all  diversity.  This  Being  of  Beings,  this  Unity  of 
Unities,  is  God :  "  Deus  est  monadum  monas,  nempe  entium 
entitas." 

Bruno  says,  that  although  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  nature 
separated  from  God,  we  can  conceive  God  separated  from  nature. 
The  infinite  Being  is  the  essential  centre  and  substance  of  the 
universe,  but  he  is  above  the  essence  and  substance  of  all  things : 
he  is  super  essentialis,  supersubstantialis.  Thus  we  cannot  con 
ceive  a  thought  independent  of  a  mind,  but  we  can  conceive  a 
mind  apart  from  any  one  thought.  The  universe  is  a  thought 
of  God's  mind — nay  more,  it  is  the  infinite  activity  of  his  mind. 
To  suppose  the  world  finite  is  to  limit  his  power.  "  Wherefore 
should  we  imagine  that  the  Divine  activity  (la  divina  efficacia) 
is  idle  ?  Wherefore  should  we  say  that  the  Divine  goodness, 
which  can  communicate  itself  ad  infinitum,  and  infinitely  diffuse 
itself,  is  willing  to  restrict  itself?  Why  should  his  infinite  capa 
city  be  frustrated — defrauded  of  its  possibility  to  create  infinite 


392  FROM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

worlds  ?  And  why  should  we  deface  the  excellence  of  the  Di 
vine  image,  which  should  rather  reflect  itself  in  an  infinite  mirror, 
as  his  nature  is  infinite  and  immense  ?"* 

Bruno  admits  the  existence  of  only  one  intelligence,  and  that 
is  God.  Est  Deus  in  nobis.  This  intelligence,  which  is  perfect 
in  God,  is  less  perfect  in  inferior  spirits ;  still  less  so  in  man ; 
more  and  more  imperfect  in  the  lower  gradations  of  created  be 
ings.  But  all  these  differences  are  differences  of  degree,  not  of 
kind.  The  inferior  order  of  beings  do  not  understand  them 
selves,  but  they  have  a  sort  of  language.  In  the  superior  orders 
of  beings,  intelligence  arrives  at  the  point  of  self-consciousness — 
they  understand  themselves,  and  those  below  them.  Man,  who 
occupies  the  middle  position  in  the  hierarchy  of  creation,  is  ca 
pable  of  contemplating  every  phasis  of  life.  He  sees  God  above 
him — he  sees  around  him  traces  of  the  divine  activity.  These 
traces,  which  attest  the  immutable  order  of  the  universe,  constitute 
the  soul  of  the  world.  To  collect  them,  and  connect  them  with 
the  Being  whence  they  issue,  is  the  noblest  function  of  the  human 
mind.  Bruno  further  teaches  that,  in  proportion  as  man  labors 
in  this  direction,  he  discovers  that  these  traces,  spread  abroad  in 
nature,  do  not  differ  from  the  ideas  which  exist  in  his  own  mind.f 
He  thus  arrives  at  the  perception  of  the  identity  between  the 
soul  of  the  world,  and  his  own  soul,  both  as  reflections  of  the  Di 
vine  intelligence.  He  is  thus  led  to  perceive  the  identity  of 
Subject  and  Object,  of  Thought  and  Being. 

Such  is  the  faint  outline  of  a  doctrine,  to  preach  which,  Bruno 
became  a  homeless  wanderer  and  a  martyr;  as  he  loftily  says, 
"  Con  questa  filosofia  1'  anima  mi  s'  aggrandisce,  e  mi  si  magni 
fied  V  intelletto"  If  not  original,  this  doctrine  has  at  any  rate 
the  merit  of  poetical  grandeur.  In  it  deep  thoughts,  wrestling 

*  De  V  Infinite:  Opp.  Ital.  ii.  24. 

t  "  ELF.  :  What  is  the  purpose  of  the  senses  ?— FIL,  :  Solely  to  excite  the 
reason  ;  to  indicate  the  truth,  but  not  to  judge  of  it.  Truth  is  in  the  sensi 
ble  object  as  in  a  mirror  ;  in  the  reason,  as  a  matter  of  argument ;  in  the 
intellect,  as  a  principle  and  conclusion ;  but  in  the  mind  it  has  its  true  and 
proper  form." — De  V  Infinite,  p.  18. 


GIORDANO    BKUNO.  393 

with  imperfect  language,  do  get  some  sort  of  utterance.  As  a 
system,  it  is  more  imaginative  than  logical ;  but  to  many  minds 
it  would  be  all  the  more  acceptable  on  that  account.  Coleridge 
used  to  say,  and  with  truth,  that  imagination  was  the  greatest 
faculty  of  the  philosopher ;  and  Bruno  said,  "  Philosophi  sunt 
quodammodo  pictores  atque  poetse.  .  .  .  Non  est  philosophus 
nisi  fingit  et  pingit."  Little  as  the  dull  man  of  science  may  be 
aware  of  it,  the  great  faculty  of  imagination  is  indispensable  even 
to  his  science :  it  is  the  great  telescope  with  which,  we  look  into 
the  infinite.  But  in  metaphysics  imagination  plays  a  still  greater 
part :  it  there  reigns  as  a  queen. 

The  works  of  Bruno  are  mostly  in  Italian,  Latin  having  been 
happily  reserved  by  him  for  the  logical  treatises.  The  volumes 
which  we  owe  to  the  honorable  diligence  and  love  of  philosophy 
of  Adolph  Wagner,  open  with  the  comedy,  //  Candclajo,  which 
was  adapted  to  the  French  stage  under  the  title  of  Boniface  le 
Pedant,  from  which  Cyrano  de  Bergerac  took  his  Pedant  Joue, 
— a  piece  which  in  its  turn  was  plundered  by  Moliere,  who,  with 
charming  wit  and  candor,  avows  it :  "  Ces  deux  scenes  (in  Cy 
rano)  etaient  bonnes ;  elles  m'appartenaient  de  plein  droit ;  on 
reprend  son  lien  partout  ou  on  le  trouve"*  According  to 


*  This  is,  perhaps,  the  wittiest  of  all  the  variations  of  the  "  pereant  male 
qui  ante  nos  nostra  dixissent."  The  Chevalier  D'Aceilly's  version  is  worth 
citing : 

"Dis-je  quelque  chose  assez  belle  ? 
L'antiquite  tout  en  cervelle 
Pretend  1'avoir  dite  avant  moi. 
C'est  une  plaisante  donzelle  ! 
Que  ne  venait-elle  apres  moi  ? 
J'aurais  dit  la  chose  avant  elle !" 

While  on  this  subject,  we  cannot  resist  Piron's  lines; 

"  Us  ont  dit,  il  est  vrai,  presque  tout  ce  qu'on  pense. 
Leurs  ecrits  sont  des  vols  qu'ils  nous  ont  faits  d'avance. 
Mais  le  remede  est  simple  ;  il  faut  faire  comme  eux, 
Us  nous  ont  derobes  ;  derobons  nos  neveux. 
Un  dernou  triomphant  rn'eleve  a  cet  emploi : 
Malheur  aux  ecrivains  qui  viendront  apres  moi !" 

La  Metromanic. 

17* 


394  FROM  PKOCLUS  TO  BACON. 

Charles  Nodier,  Moliere  was  indebted  to  Bruno  for  several 
scenes;  but  it  is  difficult  to  settle  questions  of  plagiarism.  Bruno's 
comedy  is  long,  full  of  absurd  incidents  and  Neapolitan  buffoon 
ery,  and  might  have  suggested  a  good  deal  to  such  a  prolific 
mind  as  Moliere's.  In  it  he  has  exhibited  "  the  amorousness  of 
one  old  man  named  Bonifacio,  the  sordid  avarice  of  another 
named  Bartolomeo,  and  the  pedantry,  not  less  sordid,  of  a  third 
named  Manfurio."  Ladies  of  vacillating  virtue,  soldiers,  sailors, 
and  scamps  concert  together  to  deceive  these  three  old  men,  and 
wring  money  from  their  sensuality,  their  avarice,  and  their  super 
stition.  Bonifacio,  desperately  in  love  with  Vittoria,  is  never 
theless  alarmed  at  the  enormous  expense  necessary  to  make  his 
addresses  acceptable.  He  had  recourse  to  Scaramure,  a  reputed 
magician,  who  sells  him  a  wax  figure,  which  he  is  to  melt,  and 
thus  melt  the  obdurate  heart  of  his  fair  one.  After  a  succession 
of  disasters,  Bonifacio  is  seized  by  pretended  police,  who  force 
from  him  a  heavy  ransom.  Bartolomeo  becomes  the  dupe  of 
Cencio,  an  impostor,  who  sells  him  a  receipt  for  making  gold. 
Manfurio,  the  pedant,  is  beaten,  robbed,  and  ridiculed  through 
out.  The  sensualism  and  niggardliness  of  Bonifacio,  and  the 
pedantry  of  Manfurio,  are  hit  off  with  true  comic  spirit;  and  the 
dialogue,  though  rambling  and  diffuse,  is  enlivened  by  lazzi — not 
always  the  most  decent,  it  is  true — and  crowded  with  proverbs. 
Dramatic  art  there  is  none :  the  persons  come  on  and  talk ;  they 
are  succeeded  by  fresh  actors,  who,  having  talked,  also  retire  to 
give  place  to  others.  The  whole  play  leaves  a  very  confused  im 
pression.  The  hits  at  alchemy  and  pedantry  were,  doubtless, 
highly  relished  in  those  days. 

It  is  very  strange  to  pass  from  this  comedy  to  the  work  which 
succeeds  it  in  Wagner's  edition,  La  Cena  de  le  Ceneri.  In  five 
dialogues  he  combats  the  hypothesis  of  the  world's  immobility ; 
proclaims  the  infinity  of  the  universe,  and  warns  us  against  seek 
ing  its  centre  or  circumference.  He  enlarges  on  the  difference 
between  appearances  and  reality  in  celestial  phenomena ;  argues 
that  our  globe  is  made  of  the  same  substance  as  the  other  plan- 


GIORDANO    BRUNO.  395 

ets,  and  that  every  thing  which  is,  is  living,  so  that  the  world 
may  be  likened  to  a  huge  animal.*  In  this  work  he  also  an 
swers  his  objectors,  who  bring  against  his  system  the  authority 
of  Scripture,  exactly  in  the  same  way  as  modern  geologists  an 
swer  the  same  objection,  viz.  by  declaring  that  the  revelation  in 
the  Bible  was  a  moral  not  a  physical  revelation.  It  did  not  pre 
tend  to  teach  science,  but,  on  the  contrary,  adopted  ordinary 
notions,  and  expressed  itself  in  the  language  intelligible  to  the 
vulgar.f  In  this  work  there  are  some  digressions  more  than 
usually  interesting  to  us,  because  they  refer  to  the  social  condi 
tion  of  England  during  Elizabeth's  reign. 

The  two  works,  De  la  Causa  and  De  1?  Infinite,  contain  the 
most  matured  and  connected  exposition  of  his  philosophical  opin 
ions.  As  our  space  will  not  admit  of  an  analysis,  we  must  refer 
to  that  amply  given  by  M.  Bartholmess.J  The  Spaccio  de  la 
Bestia  Trionfante  is  the  most  celebrated  of  all  his  writings.  It 
was  translated  by  Toland,  in  1713,  who  printed  only  a  very  few 
copies,  as  if  wishing  it  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  only  a  few  choice 
readers.  The  very  title  has  been  a  sad  puzzle  to  the  world,  and 
has  led  to  the  strangest  suppositions.  The  "Triumphant  Beast," 
which  Bruno  undertakes  to  expel,  is  none  other  than  this :  an 
cient  astronomy  disfigured  the  heavens  with  animals  as  constel 
lations,  and  under  guise  of  expelling  these,  he  attacks  the  great 
beast  (superstition)  whose  predominance  causes  men  to  believe 
that  the  stars  influence  human  affairs.  In  his  Cabala  del  Ca- 
vallo  Pegaseo,  he  sarcastically  calls  the  ass  "  la  bestia  trionfante 
viva,"  and  indites  a  sonnet  in  praise  of  that  respectable  quad 
ruped  : 

*  An  idea  borrowed  from  Plato,  who,  in  the  Timceus,  pays,  Qvrus  ovv  S/i 
Kara  \oybv  rbv  dx6ra  Stl  Xiyeiv  r<5i/ta  rbv  Ktiapov  $woi>  epipvxov  evvovv  rt  rjj  a\i]Qdq. 
<W  rf/v  TOV  Otov  ysvlffOai  irp6voiav. — p.  26,  ed.  Bekker.  Compare  also  Politicus, 
p.  273.  Bruno  may  have  taken  this  directly  from  Plato,  or  he  might  have 
learned  it  from  the  work  of  his  countryman,  Telesio,  De  Rerum  Naturd. 

t  "  Secondo  il  senso  volgare  et  ordinario  :nodo  di  comprendere  e  parlare." 
The  whole  of  the  early  portion  of  Dialogue  4  (in  which  this  distinction  is 
maintained)  is  worth  consulting. —  Opere,  i.  172  sq. 

\  Vol.  ii.  pp.  128-154. 


396  FROM  PROCLUS  TO  BACON. 

"  Oh  sant'  asinita,  sant'  ignoranza, 
Santa  stoltizia,  e  pia  divozione, 
Qual  sola  puoi  far  1'  anima  si  buone 
Oh'  uman  ingegno  e  studio  non  1'avanza !"  etc. 

The  Spaccio  is  an  attack  upon  the  superstitions  of  the  day, — a 
war  against  ignorance,  and  "that  orthodoxy  without  morality, 
and  without  belief,  which  is  the  ruin  of  all  justice  and  virtue." 
Morality,  Bruno  fancifully  calls  "  the  astronomy  of  the  heart ;" 
but  did  not  even  Bacon  call  it  "the  Georgics  of  the  mind?" 
The  Spaccio  is  a  strange  medley  of  learning,  imagination,  and 
buffoonery ;  and  on  the  whole,  perhaps  the  most  tiresome  of  all 
his  writings.  M.  Bartholmess,  whose  admiration  for  Bruno 
greatly  exceeds  our  own,  says  of  it :  "  The  mythology  and  sym 
bolism  of  the  ancients  is  there  employed  with  as  much  tact  as 
erudition.  The  fiction  that  the  modern  world  is  still  governed 
by  Jupiter  and  the  court  of  Olympus,  the  mixture  of  reminis 
cences  of  chivalry,  and  the  marvels  of  the  middle  ages,  with  the 
tales  and  traditions  of  antiquity — all  those  notions  which  have 
given  birth  to  the  philosophy  of  mythology,  of  religions,  and  of 
history — the  Vicos  and  the  Creuzers — this  strange  medley  makes 
the  Spaccio  so  interesting.  The  philosopher  there  speaks  the 
noble  language  of  a  moralist.  As  each  virtue  in  its  turn  appears 
to  replace  the  vices  which  disfigure  the  heavens,  it  learns  from 
Jupiter  all  it  has  to  do,  all  it  has  to  avoid  :  all  its  attributes  are 
enumerated  and  explained,  and  mostly  personified  in  the  allegor 
ical  vein ;  all  the  dangers  and  excesses  it  is  to  avoid  are  charac 
terized  with  the  same  vigor.  Every  page  reveals  a  rare  talent 
for  psychological  observation,  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  heart, 
and  of  contemporary  society.  The  passions  are  subtly  analyzed 
and  well  painted.  That  which  still  more  captivates  the  thought 
ful  reader  is  the  sustained  style  of  his  long  fiction,  which  may  be 
regarded  as  a  sort  of  philosophic  sermon.  Truth  and  wisdom, 
justice  and  candor,  take  the  place  in  the  future  now  occupied 
by  error,  folly,  and  falsehood  of  every  species.  In  this  last  re 
spect  the  Spaccio  has  sometimes  the  style  of  the  Apocalypse." 
Without  impugning  the  justice  of  this  criticism,  we  must  add, 


GIORDANO   BRUNO.  397 

that  the  Spaccio  taxes  even  a  bookworm's  patience,  and  ought 
to  be  read  with  a  liberal  license  in  skipping. 

Perhaps  of  all  his  writings,  Gli  Eroici  Furori  is  that  which 
would  most  interest  a  modern  reader,  not  curious  about  the  phi 
losophical  speculations  of  the  Neapolitan.  Its  prodigality  of  son 
nets,  and  its  mystic  exaltation,  carry  us  at  once  into  the  heart  of 
that  epoch  of  Italian  culture  when  poetry  and  Plato  were  the 
great  studies  of  earnest  men.  In  it  Bruno,  avowing  himself  a 
disciple  of  Petrarch,  proclaims  a  Donna  more  exalted  than  Laura, 
more  adorable  than  all  earthly  beauty :  that  Donna  is  the  imper 
ishable  image  of  Divine  Perfection.  It  is  unworthy  of  a  man,  he 
says,  to  languish  for  a  woman ;  to  sacrifice  to  her  all  those 
energies  and  faculties  of  a  great  soul,  which  might  be  devoted 
to  the  pursuit  of  the  Divine.  Wisdom,  which  is  truth  and 
beauty  in  one,  is  the  idol  adored  by  the  genuine  hero.  Love 
woman  if  you  will,  but  remember  that  you  are  also  a  lover  of  the 
Infinite.  Truth  is  the  food  of  every  heroic  soul ;  hunting  for 
Truth  the  only  occupation  worthy  of  a  hero.*  The  reader  of 
Plato  will  trace  here  a  favorite  image  ;  and  was  it  not  Berkeley 
who  defined  Truth  as  the  cry  of  all,  but  the  game  few  run  down  ? 

*  Vide,  in  particular,  the  fine  passage,  Opp.  Ital.  ii.  406-7. 


FIRST  EPOCH. 

FOUNDATION  OF  THE  INDUCTIVE  METHOD. 


§  I.  THE  LIFE  OF  BACON. 

FRANCIS  BACON  was  born  on  the  22d  January,  1561.  Mr. 
Basil  Montagu,  the  laborious  and  affectionate  (we  had  almost 
said  idolatrous)  biographer  of  Bacon,  wishes  us  to  believe  that 
the  family  was  ancient  and  illustrious ;  and  favors  us  with  rhe 
torical  flourishes  about  Bacon  retiring  to  the  "  halls  of  his  an 
cestors."  This  is  somewhat  different  from  the  story  of  Bacon's 
grandfather  having  kept  the  sheep  of  the  Abbot  of  Bury.* 

But  although  we  can  claim  for  Bacon  no  illustrious  ancestry, 
we  must  not  forget  his  excellent  parentage.  His  father,  Sir 
Nicholas,  was  generally  considered  as  ranking  next  to  the  great 
Burleigh  as  a  statesman.  His  mother,  Anne,  daughter  of  Sir 
Anthony  Cooke,  "was  distinguished  both  as  a  linguist  and  as  a 
theologian.  She  corresponded  in  Greek  with  Bishop  Jewel,  and 
translated  his  Apologia  from  the  Latin  so  correctly,  that  neither 
he  nor  Bishop  Parker  could  suggest  a  single  alteration."! 

His  health  was  very  delicate,  which  made  him  sedentary  and 
reflective.  Of  his  youth  we  know  little,  but  that  little  displays 


*  See  this  question  of  lineage,  and  a  great  many  other  curious  points, 
satisfactorily  settled  in  an  article  on  the  Lives  of  Bacon,  London  Review, 
Jan. 1836. 

t  Edinb.  Review,  July,  1887,  p.  9.  This  is  the  brilliant  article  on  Bacon, 
by  Macaulay,  which  has  excited  so  much  attention.  It  is  reprinted  in  his 
Essays. 


THE   LIFE   OF   BACON.  399 

the  reflective  tendency  of  his  mind.  At  the  age  of  twelve  he 
discussed  the  point  as  to  how  a  juggler  could  tell  the  card  of 
which  a  man  thought :  he  at  first  ascribed  it  to  a  confederacy 
between  the  juggler  and  the  servants,  till  he  at  last  discovered 
the  law  of  the  mind  on  which  the  trick  depends.  We  hear  also 
of  his  leaving  his  playfellows  to  examine  the  cause  of  an  echo 
which  he  had  observed  in  a  vault.  At  thirteen  he  was  entered 
at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  where  he  soon  felt  a  profound 
contempt  for  the  course  of  study  pursued  there,  and  an  inveterate 
scorn  for  Aristotle  and  his  followers.  It  is  said  that  he  there 
planned  his  Novum  Organum  ;  but  this  is  highly  improbable. 
What  he  did  was  perhaps  to  sketch  some  new  scheme  of  philo 
sophical  study,  originated  by  his  contempt  for  that  in  vogue. 
There  must  however  be  a  wide  difference  between  the  sketch 
of  a  boy,  prompted  by  contempt  for  reigning  opinions,  and 
the  wise  maturity  of  his  greatest  work,  the  fruit  of  a  life's  medi 
tations. 

On  leaving  Cambridge,  he  visited  Paris,  Poitiers,  and  other 
parts  of  France,  from  whence  he  was  recalled  on  the  sudden 
death  of  his  father.  "  Being  returned  from  travaile,"  says  Dr. 
Rowley,  "  he  applyed  himself  to  the  study  of  the  Common  Law, 
which  he  took  upon  him  to  be  his  profession ;  in  which  he  ob 
tained  to  great  excellency,  though  he  made  that  (as  himself  said) 
but  as  an  accessory,  and  not  as  his  principal  study." 

In  1590,  he  sat  in  Parliament  as  Member  for  Middlesex.  He 
soon  became  distinguished  as  an  orator  and  as  a  debater.  We 
have  the  testimony  of  an  admirable  judge  to  assure  us  that 
Bacon's  oratory  was  worthy  of  his  other  powers.  Ben  Jonson 
thus  writes :  "  There  happened,  in  my  time,  one  noble  speaker, 
who  was  full  of  gravity  in  his  speaking.  His  language,  where 
he  could  spare  or  pass  by  a  jest,  was  nobly  censorious.  No  man 
ever  spoke  more  neatly,  more  pressly,  more  weightily,  or  suffered 
less  emptiness,  less  idleness,  in  what  he  uttered.  No  member  of 
his  speech  but  consisted  of  his  own  graces.  His  hearers  could 
not  cough  or  look  aside  from  him  without  loss.  He  commanded 


400  THE   LIFE   OF   BACON. 

when  he  spoke,  and  had  his  judges  angry  or  pleased  at  his  de 
votion."* 

A  grave  biographical  question,  namely  that  of  Bacon's  politi 
cal  and  moral  conduct,  must  be  passed  over  by  us  without  a  word 
of  comment,  because  the  question  is  too  complicated  and  critical 
for  any  succinct  narrative.f  Let  us  pass  on  to  the  year  1616, 
when  Sir  Francis  Bacon  was  sworn  of  the  Privy  Council ;  and 
in  March,  1617,  on  the  retirement  of  Lord  Brackley,  was  ap 
pointed  Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal.  His  administration  was  any 
thing  but  pure.  He  was  the  tool  of  Buckingham,  who  was  alto 
gether  unscrupulous.  On  his  own  account,  too,  he  accepted 
large  presents  from  persons  engaged  in  Chancery  suits.  His 
enemies  reckoned  his  gains  in  this  way  at  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds :  an  immense  sum  in  those  days,  and  probably  exagger 
ated.  His  works  had  spread  his  fame  throughout  Europe.  He 
had  also  been  created  Baron  Verulam ;  and  subsequently  Vis 
count  St.  Alban's.  We  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  he 
valued  this  title  more  highly  than  that  of  the  author  of  the  In- 
xtauratio  Magna ;  but,  as  Mr.  Macaulay  remarks,  posterity,  in 
defiance  of  royal  letters-patent,  has  obstinately  refused  to  degrade 
Francis  Bacon  into  Viscount  St.  Alban's. 

In  the  height  of  this  prosperity  a  terrible  reverse  was  at  hand. 
He  was  accused  of  corruption,  and  was  impeached.  His  re 
morse  and  dejection  of  mind  were  dreadful.  "  During  several 
days  he  remained  in  his  bed,  refusing  to  see  any  human  being. 
He  passionately  told  his  attendants  to  leave  him — to  forget  him 
— never  again  to  name  his  name — never  to  remember  that  there 
had  been  such  a  man  in  the  world."  The  charges  against  him 
were  such  that  the  King,  impotent  to  save  him,  advised  him  to 

*  Ben  Jonson,  Underwoods.  In  the  Discoveries,  Ben  also  speaks  admir 
ingly  and  affectionately  of  him. 

t  In  the  former  edition,  Mr.  Macaulay's  view  of  this  question  was 
adopted  ;  but  on  the  eve  of  the  appearance  of  that  long-promised  edition  of 
Bacon's  works,  in  which  Mr.  Spedding  is  to  give  the  results  of  his  ex 
haustive  study  of  this  question,  it  seems  desirable  not  to  repeat  statements 
which  may  turn  out  erroneous  when  all  the  evidence  is  produced. 


THE   LIFE   OF   BACON.  401 

plead  guilty.  He  did  so.  The  sentence  he  received  was  severe : 
a  fine  of  forty  thousand  pounds,  and  to  be  imprisoned  in  the 
Tower  during  the  King's  pleasure.  He  was  declared  incapable 
of  holding  any  office  in  the  State,  or  of  sitting  in  Parliament, 
and  was  banished  for  life  from  the  verge  of  the  Court. 

This  sentence  was  not  executed.  He  was  sent,  indeed,  to  the 
Tower,  but  at  the  end  of  the  second  day  he  was  released.  His 
fine  was  remitted  by  the  Crown.  He  was  soon  allowed  to  pre 
sent  himself  at  Court;  and  in  1624  the  rest  of  his  sentence  was 
remitted.  He  was  at  liberty  to  sit  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and 
was  summoned  to  the  next  Parliament.  He  did  not,  however, 
attend  :  age.  infirmity,  and  perhaps  shame,  prevented  him. 

In  his  retirement,  he  devoted  himself  to  literature;  and 
amongst  other  works  published  his  wonderful  treatise  De  Aug- 
mentis,  which,  though  only  an  expansion  of  his  Advancement  of 
Learning,  may  nevertheless  be  regarded  as  a  new  work.* 

"  The  great  apostle  of  experimental  philosophy,"  says  Mr.  Ma- 
caulay,  "  was  destined  to  be  its  martyr.  It  had  occurred  to  him 
that  snow  might  be  used  with  advantage  for  the  purpose  of  pre 
venting  animal  substances  from  putrefying.  On  a  very  cold  day, 
early  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1626,  he  alighted  from  his  coach 
near  Highgate,  to  try  the  experiment.  He  went  into  a  cottage, 
bought  a  fowl,  and  with  his  own  hands  stuffed  it  with  snow. 
While  thus  engaged,  he  felt  a  sudden  chill,  and  was  so  much  in 
disposed,  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  return  to  Gray's  Inn. 
After  an  illness  of  about  a  week,  he  expired  on  the  morning  of 
Easter-day,  1626.  His  mind  appears  to  have  retained  its  strength 
and  liveliness  to  the  end.  He  did  not  forget  the  fowl  which  had 
caused  his  death.  In  the  last  letter  that  he  ever  wrote,  with  fin 
gers  which,  as  he  said,  could  not  steadily  hold  a  pen,  he  did  not 
omit  to  mention  that  the  experiment  of  the  snow  had  succeeded 
excellently  well." 

*  "  I  find,  upon  comparison,  that  more  than  two-thirds  of  this  treatise  are 
a  version,  with  slight  interpolation  or  omission,  from  the  Advancement  of 
Learning,  the  remainder  being  new  matter." — Hallam,  History  of  Literature 
of  Europe,  iii.  169. 


402  BACON. 

Bacon,  when  dying,  did  not  disguise  from  himself  the  mournful 
fact,  that  if  he  had  thought  profoundly,  he  had  acted  unworthily. 
Knowing  at  once  his  errors  and  his  greatness,  he  said,  "  For  my 
name  and  memory,  I  leave  it  to  men's  charitable  speeches,  and 
to  foreign  nations,  and  to  the  next  age."  His  confidence  was 
well  placed.  Leniently  as  we  cannot  but  think  him  to  have 
been  treated  by  his  contemporaries,  posterity  has  been  still  more 
gracious ;  and  the  reason  is  felicitously  expressed  by  Macaulay  : 
"Turn  where  we  will,  the  trophies  of  that  mighty  intellect  are 
full  in  view.  We  are  judging  Manlius  in  sight  of  the  Capitol." 

§  BACON'S  METHOD. 

Bacon  is  commonly  styled  the  Father  of  Experimental  Philos 
ophy.  Was  he  the  first  great  experimentalist  ?  No.  Was  he 
the  most  successful  experimentalist?  No.  Was  he  the  dis 
coverer  of  some  of  those  great  laws,  the  application  of  which  is 
the  occupation  of  succeeding  generations — was  he  a  Copernicus, 
a  Galileo,  a  Kepler,  a  Torricelli,  a  Harvey,  or  a  Newton  ?  No. 

He  owes  this  title  to  his  Method,  as  will  be  understood  after  the 
following  sketch,  in  which  we  shall  follow  Professor  Playfair's 
exposition  in  his  Dissertation  on  the  Progress  of  Physical  Sci 
ence,  prefixed  to  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica. 

Before  laying  down  the  rules  of  his  Method,  Bacon  proceeds 
to  enumerate  the  causes  of  error — the  Idols,  as  he  terms  them, 
in  his  figurative  language,  or  false  divinities,  to  which  the  mind 
had  so  long  been  accustomed  to  bow.*  He  considered  this  enu 
meration  as  the  more  necessary,  that  the  same  idols  were  likely  to 
return,  even  after  the  reformation  of  science. 
These  idols  he  divides  into  four  classes,  viz. : 

Idola  Tribus Idols  of  the  Tribe. 

Idola  SpecCis Idols  of  the  Den. 

Idola  Fori Idols  of  the  Forum. 

Idola  Theatri Idols  of  the  Theatre. 

*  Mr.  Hallam  was  the  first  to  point  out  the  mistake  which  all  modern 
writers  have  made  respecting  the  meaning  of  the  word  Idol,  as  used  by  Ba 
con;  which  does  not  mean  idol,  but  false  appearance  (ttiwXov).  See  the 
passage  in  Hallam's  Lit.  of  Europe,  iii.  194-6. 


403 

1.  The  Idols  of  the  Tribe  are  the  causes  of  error  founded  on 
human  nature  in  general.     "  The  mind,"  he  observes,  "  is  not 
like  a  plane  mirror,  which  reflects  the  images  of  things  exactly 
as  they  are ;  it  is  like  a  mirror  of  an  uneven  surface,  which  com 
bines  its  own  figure  with  the  figures  of  the  objects  it  represents." 

Among  the  idols  of  this  class,  we  may  reckon  the  propensity 
which  there  is  in  all  men  to  find  a  greater  degree  of  order,  sim 
plicity,  and  regularity,  than  is  actually  indicated  by  observa 
tion.  Thus,  as  soon  as  men  perceived  the  orbits  of  the  planets 
to  return  into  themselves,  they  immediately  supposed  them  to  be 
perfect  circles,  and  the  motion  in  those  circles  to  be  uniform ; 
and  to  these  hypotheses  the  astronomers  and  mathematicians  of 
all  antiquity  labored  incessantly  to  reconcile  their  observations. 

The  propensity  which  Bacon  has  here  characterized,  may  be 
called  the  spirit  of  system. 

2.  The  Idols  of  the  Den  are  those  which  spring  from  the  pe 
culiar  character  of  the  individual.     Besides  the  causes  of  error 
common  to  all  mankind,  each  individual  has  his  own  dark  cav 
ern,  or  den,  into  which  the  light  is  imperfectly  admitted,  and  in 
the  obscurity  of  which  a  tutelary  idol  lurks,  at  whose  shrine  the 
truth  is  often  sacrificed. 

Some  minds  are  best  adapted  to  mark  the  differences  of  things, 
others  to  catch  at  the  resemblances  of  things.  Steady  and  pro 
found  understandings  are  disposed  to  attend  carefully,  to  proceed 
slowly,  and  to  examine  the  most  minute  differences ;  while  those 
that  are  sublime  and  active,  are  ready  to  lay  hold  of  the  slightest 
resemblances.  Each  of  these  easily  runs  into  excess;  the  one 
by  catching  continually  at  distinctions,  the  other  at  affinities. 

3.  The  Idols  of  the  forum  are  those  which  arise  out  of  the 
intercourse   of  society,  and  those   also  which  arise  from   lan 
guage. 

Men  believe  that  their,  thoughts  govern  their  words ;  but  it 
also  happens,  by  a  certain  kind  of  reaction,  that  their  words  fre 
quently  govern  their  thoughts.  This  is  the  more  pernicious, 
that  words,  being  generally  the  work  of  the  multitude,  divide 


4:04  BACON. 

things  according  to  the  lines  most  conspicuous  to  vulgar  appre 
hensions.  Hence,  when  words  are  examined,  few  instances  are 
found  in  which,  if  at  all  abstract,  they  convey  ideas  tolerably 
precise  and  defined. 

4.  The  Idols  of  the  Theatre  are  the  deceptions  which  have 
arisen  from  the  dogmas  of  different  schools. 

As  many  systems  as  existed,  so  many  representations  of  im 
aginary  worlds  had  been  brought  upon  the  stage.  Hence  the 
name  of  Idola  Theatri.  They  do  not  enter  the  mind  impercep 
tibly  like  the  other  three ;  a  man  must  labor  to  acquire  them, 
and  they  are  often  the  result  of  great  learning  and  study. 

After  these  preliminary  discussions.  Bacon  proceeds,  in  the 
Second  Book  of  his  Organuin,  to  describe  and  exemplify  the 
nature  of  induction. 

The  first  object  must  be  to  prepare  a  history  of  the  phenomena 
to  be  explained,  in  all  their  modifications  and  varieties.  This 
history  is  to  comprehend  not  only  all  such  facts  as  spontaneously 
offer  themselves,  but  all  the  experiments  instituted  for  the  sake  of 
discovery,  or  for  any  of  the  purposes  of  the  useful  arts.  It  ought 
to  be  composed  with  great  care  ^  the  facts  accurately  related  and 
distinctly  arranged ;  their  authenticity  diligently  examined ; 
those  that  rest  on  doubtful  evidence,  though  not  rejected,  yet 
noted  as  uncertain,  with  the  grounds  of  the  judgment  so  formed. 
This  last  is  very  necessary,  for  facts  often  appear  incredible  only 
because  we  are  ill-informed,  and  cease  to  appear  marvellous  when 
our  knowledge  is  further  extended.  This  record  of  facts  is  Nat 
ural  History. 

The  Natural  History  being  prepared  of  any  class  of  phenom 
ena,  the  next  object  is  to  discover,  by  a  comparison  of  the  differ 
ent  facts,  the  cause  of  these  phenomena,  or,  as  Bacon  calls  it,  the 
form.  The  form  of  any  quality  in  a  body  is  something  convert 
ible  with  that  quality ;  that  is,  where  it  exists  the  quality  exists : 
thus,  if  transparency  in  bodies  be  the  thing  inquired  after,  the 
form  of  it  is  something  found  wherever  there  is  transparency. 
Thus/orm  differs  from  cause  in  this  only :  we  call  it  form  or  es- 


BACON'S  METHOD.  405 

sence,  when  the  effect  is  a  permanent  quality ;  we  call  it  cause, 
when  the  effect  is  a  change  or/ an  event. 

Two  other  subjects,  subordinate  to  forms,  but  often  essential  to 
the  knowledge  of  them,  are  also  occasionally  subjects  of  investiga 
tion.  These  are  the  latent  process,  latens  processus  ;  and  the  la 
tent  schematism,  latens  schematisms.  The  former  is  the  secret 
and  invisible  progress  by  which  sensible  changes  are  brought 
about,  and  seems,  in  Bacon's  acceptation,  to  involve  the  principle 
since  called  the  law  of  continuity,  according  to  which  no  change, 
however  small,  can  be  effected  but  in  time.  To  know  the  rela 
tion  between  the  time  and  the  change  effected  in  it,  would  be  to 
have  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  latent  process.  In  the  firing  of 
a  cannon,  for  example,  the  succession  of  events  during  the  short 
interval  between  the  application  of  the  match  and  the  expulsion 
of  the  ball,  constitutes  a  latent  process  of  a  very  remarkable  and 
complicated  nature,  which,  however,  we  can  now  trace  with 
some  degree  of  accuracy. 

The  latent  schematism  is  that  invisible  structure  of  bodies  on 
which  so  many  of  their  properties  depend.  When  we  inquire 
into  the  constitution  of  crystals,  or  into  the  internal  structure  of 
plants,  etc.,  we  are  examining  into  the  latent  schematism. 

In  order  to  inquire  into  the  form  of  any  thing  by  induction, 
having  brought  together  all  the  facts,  we  are  to  begin  with  consid 
ering  what  things  are  thereby  excluded  from  the  number  of  pos 
sible  forms.  This  conclusion  is  the  first  part  of  the  process  of 
induction.  Thus,  if  we  are  inquiring  into  the  quality  which  is 
the  cause  of  transparency  in  bodies ;  from  the  fact  that  the  dia 
mond  is  transparent,  we  immediately  exclude  rarity  or  porosity 
as  well  as  fluidity  from  these  causes,  the  diamond  being  a  very 
solid  and  dense  body. 

Negative  instances,  or  those  where  the  form  is  wanting,  to  be 
also  collected. 

That  glass  when  pounded  is  not  transparent,  is  a  negative  fact, 
when  the  form  of  transparency  is  inquired  into ;  also,  that  col 
lections  of  vapors  have  not  transparency.  The  facts  thus  col- 


406  BACON. 

lected,  both  negative  and  affirmative,  should,  for  the  sake  of  ref 
erence,  be  reduced  to  tables. 

Bacon  exemplifies  his  Method  on  the  subject  of  Heat ;  and 
though  his  collection  of  facts  is  imperfect,  his  method  of  treating 
them  is  extremely  judicious,*  and  the  whole  disquisition  highly 
interesting. 

After  a  great  many  exclusions  have  been  made,  and  left  but 
few  principles  common  to  every  case,  one  of  these  is  to  be  as 
sumed  as  the  cause ;  and  by  reasoning  from  it  synthetically,  we 
are  to  try  if  it  will  account  for  the  phenomena.  So  necessary 
did  this  exclusive  process  appear  to  Bacon,  that  he  says,  "  It  may, 
perhaps,  be  competent  to  angels  or  superior  intelligences  to  de 
termine  the  form  or  essence  directly,  by  affirmations  from  the 
first  consideration  of  the  subject ;  but  it  is  certainly  beyond  the 
power  of  man,  to  whom  it  is  only  given  to  proceed  at  first  by 
negatives,  and  in  the  last  place  to  end  in  affirmatives,  after  the 
exclusion  of  every  thing  else." 

There  is,  however,  great  difference  in  the  value  of  facts.  Some 
of  them  show  the  thing  sought  for  in  the  highest  degree,  some 
in  the  lowest ;  some  exhibit  it  simple  and  uncombined,  in  others 
it  appears  confused  with  a  variety  of  circumstances.  Some  facts 
are  easily  interpreted,  others  are  very  obscure,  and  are  understood 
only  in  consequence  of  the  light  thrown  on  them  by  the  former. 
This  led  Bacon  to  his  consideration  of  Prerogative  Instances,  or 
the  comparative  value  of  facts  as  means  of  discovery.  He  enu 
merates  twenty-seven  different  species  :  but  we  must  content  our 
selves  with  giving  only  the  most  important. 

I.  Instantice  solitaries  :  which  are  either  examples  of  the  same 
quality  existing  in  two  bodies  otherwise  different,  or  of  a  quality 
differing  in  two  bodies  otherwise  the  same.  In  the  first  instance 
the  bodies  differ  in  all  things  but  one ;  in  the  second  they  agree 
in  all  but  one.  Thus,  if  the  cause  or  form  of  color  be  inquired 


*  This  is  Playfair's  judgment ;  a  different  opinion  will  presently  be  quoted 
from  John  Mill. 


407 

into,  instantice  solitarice  are  found  in  crystals,  prisms,  drops  of 
dew,  which  occasionally  exhibit  color,  and  yet  have  nothing  in 
common  with  the  stones,  flowers,  and  metals  which  possess  color 
permanently,  except  the  color  itself.  Hence  Bacon  concludes 
that  color  is  nothing  else  than  a  modification  of  the  rays  of  light, 
produced  in  the  first  case  by  the  different  degrees  of  incidence  ; 
and  second,  by  the  texture  or  constitution  of  the  surface  of  bodies. 
He  may  be  considered  as  very  fortunate  in  fixing  on  these  exam 
ples,  for  it  was  by  means  of  them  that  Newton  afterwards  found 
out  the  composition  of  light. 

II.  The  instantice  migrantes  exhibit  some  property  of  the 
body  passing  from  one  condition  to  another,  either  from  less  to 
greater  or  from  greater  to  less ;  arriving  nearer  perfection  in  the 
first  case,  or  verging  towards  extinction  in  the  second. 

Suppose  the  thing  inquired  into  were  the  cause  of  whiteness 
in  bodies ;  an  instantia  migrant  is  found  in  glass,  which  entire 
is  colorless,  but  pulverized  becomes  white.  The  same  is  the  case 
with  water  unbroken  or  dashed  into  foam. 

III.  The  instantice  ostensivce  are  the  facts  which  show  some 
particular  property   in  its  highest  state  of  power  and  energy, 
when  it  is  either  freed  from  impediments  which  usually  counter 
act  it,  or  is  itself  of  such  force  as  entirely  to  repress  those  im 
pediments. 

If  the  weight  of  air  were  inquired  into,  the  Torricellian  ex 
periment,  or  the  barometer,  affords  an  ostensive  instance,  where 
the  circumstance  which  conceals  the  weight  of  the  atmosphere 
in  common  cases,  namely  the  pressure  of  it  in  all  directions,  be 
ing  entirely  removed,  that  weight  produces  its  full  effect,  and 
sustains  the  whole  column  of  mercury  in  the  tube. 

IV.  The  instances  called  analogous  or  parallel  consist  of  facts 
between  which  a  resemblance  or  analogy  is  visible  in  some  par 
ticulars,  notwithstanding  great  diversity  in  all  the  rest.     Such 
are  the  telescope  and  microscope  compared  to  the  eye.     It  was 
the  experiment  of  the  camera  obscura  which  led  to  the  discovery 
of  the  formation  of  images  of  external  objects  in  the  bottom  of 


408  BACON. 

the  eye  by  the  action  of  the  crystalline  lens,  and  other  humors 
of  which  the  eye  is  formed. 

V.  Instantice  comitatus :  examples  of  certain  qualities  which 
always  accompany  one  another.    Such  are  flame  and  heat :  flame 
being  always  accompanied  by  heat,  and  the  same  degree  of  heat 
in  a  given  substance  being  always  accompanied  with  flame. 

Hostile  instances,  or  those  of  perpetual  separation,  are  the  re 
verse  of  the  former.  Thus  transparency  and  malleability  in  solids 
are  never  combined. 

VI.  The  instantia  crucis.     When  in  any  investigation  the  un 
derstanding  is  placed  in  cequilibrio,  as  it  were,  between  two  or 
more  causes,  each  of  which  accounts  equally  well  for  the  appear 
ances  as  far  as  they  are  known,  nothing  remains  to  be  done,  but 
to  look  out  for  a  fact  which  can  be  explained  by  one  of  these 
causes  and  not  by  the  other.     Such  facts  perform  the  office  of  a 
cross,  erected  at  the  separation  of  two  roads,  to  direct  the  travel 
ler  which  to  take :  hence  called  crucial  instances. 

The  experimentum  crucis  is  of  such  weight  in  matters  of  in 
duction,  that  in  all  those  branches  of  science  where  it  cannot  be 
resorted  to  (an  experiment  being  out  of  our  power  and  incapable 
of  being  varied  at  pleasure)  there  is  often  a  great  want  of  con 
clusive  evidence. 

§  III.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  BACON'S  METHOD. 
We  may  now  resume  the  question  of  Bacon's  claim  to  the 
title  of  Father  of  Experimental  Science.  That  which  distin 
guishes  his  conception  of  philosophy  from  all  previous  concep 
tions  is  the  systematization  of  graduated  Verification,  as  the  sole 
Method  of  research.  Others  before  him,  notably  Albertus 
Magnus,  had  insisted  on  some  parts  of  the  experimental  Method; 
his  great  predecessor  and  namesake,  Roger  Bacon,  had,  in  the 
Opus  Majus,  insisted  on  experience  as  the  truest  guide,  and  had 
distributed  the  causes  of  error  under  four  heads  (Authority,  Cus 
tom,  Vulgar  Prejudice,  and  False  Science),  but  no  one  had  co 
ordinated  into  a  compact  body  of  doctrine  all  the  elements  of 


409 

the  Inductive  Method ;  and  it  is  in  this  co-ordination  that  Ba 
con's  great  merit  lies.  Roger  Bacon  had  said  that  "  experience 
alone  gives  accurate  knowledge.  Reasoning  concludes,  but  estab 
lishes  nothing ;  even  mathematical  demonstration  gives  no  com 
plete  and  certain  conviction  without  this  sanction.  But  this 
experimental  science  is  entirely  unknown  to  the  many.  It  has 
three  grand  prerogatives  relatively  to  the  other  kinds  of  knowl 
edge.  The  first  is,  that  experiment  proves  and  verifies  by  its  in 
vestigations  the  highest  propositions  which  the  other  sciences  can 
present.  The  second  is,  that  this  method,  which  alone  merits 
the  name  of  mistress  of  speculative  knowledge,  can  alone  attain 
to  those  sublime  truths  which  other  sciences  cannot  reach ;  in 
experimental  truths  the  mind  must  not  seek  for  the  reason  of 
things  before  the  testimony  of  facts,  nor  reject  those  facts  because 
it  cannot  justify  them  by  argument.  The  third  prerogative  is 
so  peculiar  to  this  method  that  it  is  independent  of  its  relations 
with  the  others  :  it  consists  in  two  points,  namely,  in  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  future,  the  present,  and  the  past,  and  in  the  admira 
ble  operations  in  which  it  surpasses  judicial  astrology."*  Many 
— from  Socrates  downwards — had  insisted  on  Induction ;  but  the 
Induction  they  conceived  was  that  which  Bacon  calls  inductio 
per  enumerationem  simpticem,  and  which  consists  in  "  ascribing 
the  character  of  general  truths  to  all  propositions  which  are  true 
in  every  instance  that  we  happen  to  know  of :"  an  induction 
perpetually  made  in  the  loose  latitude  of  common  talk,  and  in 
the  less  pardonable  laxity  of  common  literature.  It  is  the  natural 
and  instinctive  action  of  the  mind,  and  is  thus  distinguished  from 
the  circumspect  Method  of  Science.  The  real  merit  of  Bacon's 
conception  was  his  accurate  detection  of  this  natural  source  of 

*  This  passage,  translated  from  M.  Rousselot's  Etudes,  iii.  189,  is  not  prop 
erly  Bacon's,  but  an  abstract  of  the  doctrines  developed  and  exemplified  in 
the  sixth  part  of  the  Opus  Majus,  pp.  445-477  of  the  London  edition,  1733. 
The  four  causes  of  error  are  mentioned  in  p.  2  of  the  same  edition  :  "  Fragi- 
lis  et  indignas  anctoritatis  exemplum,  consuetudinis  diuturnitas,  vulgi  sensus 
imperiti,  et  propriae  ignorantiae  occultatio  cum  ostentatione  sapientiae  appa- 
rentis." 

18 


410  BACON. 

error,  and  his  insistance  on  the  wider  and  more  circumspect 
Method  of  Verification. 

He  did  not  content  himself  with  telling  men  to  make  observa 
tions  and  experiments :  he  told  them  how  observations  and  ex 
periments  ought  to  be  made.  He  did  not  content  himself  with 
stating  the  proper  mode  of  investigation  to  be  that  of  Induc 
tion  founded  upon  facts  :  he  distinguished  proper  from  impro 
per  inductions — the  "interrogation"  from  the  "anticipation"  of 
Nature. 

He  did  this,  and  he  did  more.  His  Method  may  be  said  to 
have  two  parts :  the  one,  that  precise  system  of  rules  we  have 
just  quoted ;  the  other,  that  wise  and  pre-eminently  scientific 
spirit  which  breathes  through  his  works.  The  latter  is  expressed 
in  wise  and  weighty  aphorisms  which  form  perpetual  texts  for 
philosophic  writers,  and  reveal  the  magnificence  and  profundity 
of  his  intellect.  It  is  in  these  he  shows  how  completely  he  saw 
through  the  false  methods  of  his  day,  and  how  justly  he  is  en 
titled  the  Father  of  Positive  Science. 

These  aphorisms  form,  as  we  have  said,  perpetual  texts.  They 
are  quoted  on  all  occasions  when  Method  is  treated  of.  We 
cannot  however  resist  quoting  a  half-dozen  of  them  here,  because 
of  their  exceeding  value,  and  of  their  fitness  as  illustrations  of 
his  greatness  : 

I.  Man,  the  minister  and  interpreter  of  Nature,  can  act  and 
understand  in  as  far  as  he  has,  either  in  fact  or  in  thought,  ob 
served  the  order  of  Nature ;  more  he  can  neither  know  nor  do. 

II.  The  real  cause  and  root  of  almost  all  the  evils  in  science 
is  this:  that,  falsely  magnifying  and  extolling  the  powers  of  the 
mind,  we  seek  not  its  real  helps. 

III.  There  are  two  ways  of  searching  after  and  discovering 
truth  :  the  one,  from  sense  and  particulars,  rises  directly  to  the 
most  general  axioms,  and  resting  upon  these  principles,  and  their 
unshaken   truth,  finds  out  intermediate  axioms,  and  this  is  the 
method  in  use ;  but  the  other  raises  axioms  from  sense  and  par 
ticulars  by  a  continued  and  gradual  ascent,  till  at  last  it  arrives 


411 

at  the  most  general  axioms,  which  is  the  true  way,  but  hitherto 
untried. 

IV.  The  understanding,  when  left  to  itself,  takes  the  first  of 
these  ways ;  for  the  mind  delights  in  springing  up  to  the  most 
general  axioms,  that  it  may  find  rest ;  but  after  a  short  stay  there, 
it  disdains  experience,  and  these  mischiefs  are  at  length  increased 
by  logic,  for  the  ostentation  of  disputes. 

V.  The  natural  human  reasoning  we,  for  the  sake  of  clearness, 
call  the  anticipation  of  nature,  as  being  a  rash  and  hasty  thing; 
and  the  reason  duly  exercised  upon  objects,  we  call  the  interpre 
tation  of  nature. 

VI.  It  is  false  to  assert  that  human  sense  is  the  measure  of 
things,  since  all  perceptions,  both  of  sense  and  mind,  are  with 
relation  to  man,  and  not  with  relation  to  the  universe  ;*  but  the 
human  understanding  is  like  an  unequal  mirror  to  the  rays  of 
things,  which,  mixing  its  own  nature  with  the  nature  of  things, 
distorts  and  perverts  them. 

We  need  only  consider  these  half-dozen  aphorisms  to  see  the 
positive  tendency  of  his  speculations  ;  and  the  greater  the  atten 
tion  we  bestow  on  his  writings,  the  more  is  this  fact  pressed  on 
our  notice.  His  mind  was  antipathetic  to  all  metaphysics. 
Neither  the  ingenuities  of  logicians,  nor  the  passionate  earnest 
ness  of  theologians,  in  that  age  of  logicians  and  theologians, 
could  lure  him  from  his  path.  "  He  lived  in  an  age,"  says  Mr. 
Macaulay,  "in  which  disputes  on  the  most  subtle  points  of  di 
vinity  excited  an  intense  interest  throughout  Europe,  and  no 
where  more  than  in  England.  He  was  placed  in  the  very  thick 
of  the  conflict.  He  was  in  power  at  the  time  of  the  Synod  of 
Dort ;  and  must  for  months  have  been  daily  deafened  with  talk 
about  election,  reprobation,  and  final  perseverance ;  yet  we  do 
not  remember  a  line  in  his  works  from  which  it  can  be  inferred 
that  he  was  either  a  Calvinist  or  an  Arminian.  While  the  world 

*  This  is  Dr.  Shaw's  translation.  The  original  is,  "  sunt  ex  analogia  homi- 
nis,  non  ex  analogia  universi,"  which  is  intelligible  and  expressive  enough, 
but  difficult  to  render. 


412  BACOX. 

was  resounding  with  the  noise  of  a  disputatious  theology  and  a 
disputatious  philosophy,  the  Baconian  School,  like  Allworthy 
seated  between  Thwackum  and  Square,  preserved  a  calm  neutral 
ity,  half  scornful,  half  benevolent,  and,  content  with  adding  to 
the  sum  of  practical  good,  left  the  war  of  words  to  those  who 
liked  it." 

It  may  not  at  once  be  apparent  how  eminently  scientific  a 
spirit  is  shown  in  Bacon's  separation  of  Science  from  Theology ; 
but  a  slight  reflection  will  convince  us  that,  at  such  an  epoch, 
such  a  conception  was  wonderful.  The  persecution  of  Galileo 
by  the  Church,  and  his  recantation,  were  fresh  in  every  one's 
memory ;  they  suffice  to  show  that  Religion  was  still  considered 
the  arbiter  of  Philosophy  and  Science ;  nor  is  this  notion  yet  ex 
tinct.  The  objections  raised  against  the  geologists  still  operate 
as  a  powerful  obstacle  to  the  universal  acceptation  of  the  science  ; 
and  similar  objections  constantly  obstruct  our  scientific  progress 
in  other  departments.  This  tendency  is  frequently  deplored; 
perhaps  it  might  be  checked  in  some  degree  if  it  were  shown  to 
violate  a  fundamental  canon  of  all  sound  philosophy,  a  canon 
which  may  be  thus  expressed :  No  speculation  should  be  con 
trolled  by  an  order  of  conceptions  not  essentially  presupposed  by 
it.  For  example,  every  one  feels  the  absurdity  of  controlling 
Poetry  by  Mathematics ;  because  Poetry  in  no  sense  presupposes 
Mathematics,  and  derives  no  assistance  from  them ;  but  Physics 
can  be  controlled  by  Mathematics,  because  in  Physics  there  is 
an  essential  dependence  on  Mathematics.  We  cannot  control  a 
chemical  speculation  by  any  physiological  laws ;  but  conversely 
we  can,  and  do,  control  physiological  speculations  by  chemical 
laws.  The  canon,  thus  expounded,  is  readily  applied  to  the  old 
disputes  between  Religion  and  Science.  Theology  belongs  to  a 
totally  different  order  of  conceptions  from  that  of  Science.  Its 
aims  are  different,  its  methods  are  different,  its  proofs  are  differ 
ent.  Only  in  so  far  as  Theology  comes  into  the  circle  of  other 
sciences,  can  it  be  legitimately  controlled  by  them;  for  instance, 
when  Theology  rests  any  claims  on  historical  evidence,  then,  and 


413 

to  that  extent,  must  it  be  controlled  by  historical  criticism  ;  when 
it  rests  any  claim  on  scientific  evidence,  then  and  to  that  extent, 
must  it  submit  to  scientific  control ;  just  as  Poetry,  if  dealing  at 
all  with  Mathematical  problems,  must  do  so  correctly,  or  submit 
to  the  criticism  of  mathematicians.  But  when  the  Church  de 
clares  against  Galileo ;  when  the  perhaps  well-meaning  but  cer 
tainly  unwise  declaimers  of  the  present  day  oppose  Geology  on 
theological  grounds,  the  error  is  of  the  same  nature  as  that  of  a 
poet  who  should  assail  Mathematics  on  poetical  grounds.  There 
can  be  no  fair  disputes  between  Theology  and  Science.  Each 
pursues  its  own  path ;  the  one  may  push  aside  the  other ;  they 
cannot  argue,  for  they  have  no  common  ground.  In  Theology 
there  may  be  disputes,  as  between  Catholic  and  Protestant, 
Lutheran  and  Zuinglian,  Presbyterian  and  Quaker,  because  all 
proceed  from  the  same  starting-point,  all  invoke  the  same  evi 
dence  ;  and  in  Science  there  may  be  disputes,  as  between  Chem 
ists,  Geologists,  and  Physiologists,  because,  all  employing  the  same 
methods,  the  same  kind  of  evidence,  there  is  common  ground  for 
them  to  fight  on.  But  what  a  dissonance  of  words,  expressive 
of  no  less  dissonance  in  ideas,  in  the  phrases  "  Lutheran  Botany" 
and  " Presbyterian  Optics,"  "Catholic  Chemistry"  and  "Evan 
gelical  Anatomy  !"  Yet  it  is  clear  that  if  Theology  is  to  inter 
fere  with  and  control  the  speculations  of  Science,  the  various 
theological  sects  may  also  control  it  according  to  their  various 
views.  We  therefore  see  in  Bacon's  rigorous  separation  of  the 
two  disparate  paths  of  inquiry  a  profoundly  philosophical  tend 
ency.  He  took  another  and  far  greater  step  when  he  emphatic 
ally  proclaimed  that  Physics  was  "  the  mother  of  all  the  sciences." 
That  this  was  greatly  in  advance  of  his  age  may  be  gathered 
from  the  fact  of  its  to  this  day  remaining  a  heresy;  the  notion  of 
ethics  and  politics  having  the  same  methods,  and  being  suscep 
tible  of  the  same  treatment  as  physics,  is  by  the  majority  looked 
upon  as  fanciful,  if  not  absurd. 

Speaking  of  the  causes  of  errors  in  preceding  philosophers, 
Bacon  says,   "A  second  cause  of  very  great  moment  is,  that 


414:  BACON. 

through  all  those  ages  wherein  men  of  genius  and  learning  prin 
cipally  or  even  moderately  flourished,  the  smallest  part  of  human 
industry  has  been  spent  upon  natural  philosophy,  though  this 
ought  to  be  esteemed  as  the  great  mother  of  the  sciences  ;  for  all 
the  rest,  if  torn  from  this  root,  may  perhaps  be  polished  and 
formed  for  use,  but  can  receive  little  increase.  .  .  . 

"  But  let  none  expect  any  great  promotion  of  the  sciences, 
especially  in  their  effective  part,  unless  natural  philosophy  be 
drawn  out  to  particular  sciences  ;  and  again,  unless  these  partic 
ular  sciences  be  brought  back  again  to  natural  philosophy.  From 
this  defect  it  is  that  astronomy,  optics,  music,  many  mechanical 
arts,  and  what  seems  stranger,  even  moral  and  civil  philosophy 
and  logic,  rise  but  little  above  their  foundations,  and  only  skim 
over  the  varieties  and  surfaces  of  things,  viz.  because  after  these 
particular  sciences  are  formed  and  divided  off,  they  are  no  longer 
nourished  by  natural  philosophy,  which  might  give  them  strength 
and  increase  ;  and  therefore  no  wonder  if  the  sciences  thrive  not, 
when  separated  from  their  roots."* 

It  was  in  consequence  of  his  having  so  profoundly  penetrated 
the  very  nature  of  science  that  Bacon  was  able  "  to  lay  down  the 
rules  for  the  conduct  of  experimental  inquiries,  before  any  such 
inquiries  had  yet  been  instituted.  The  power  and  compass  of  a 
mind  which  could  form  such  a  plan  beforehand,  and  trace  not 
merely  the  outline,  but  many  of  the  most  minute  ramifications  of 
sciences  which  did  not  yet  exist,  must  be  an  object  of  admiration 
to  all  succeeding  ages."f 

In  his  separation  of  Science  from  Metaphysics  and  Theology, 
and  in  his  conception  of  Physics  as  the  mother  of  all  the  sciences, 
we  see  the  eminently  positive  spirit  of  his  works  ;  and  this  makes 
him  so  entirely  a  modern.  He  was  indeed  thoroughly  opposed 
to  antiquity,  and  epigrammatically  exposed  the  fallacy  of  undue 
reverence.  "  The  opinion  which  men  entertain  of  antiquity  is  a 
very  idle  thing,"  said  he,  "  and  almost  incongruous  to  the  word ; 

*  Novum  Organwn,)  i.  Aph.  79,  80.  f  Play  fair. 


THE    SPIRIT   OF   BACON 's    METHOD.  415 

for  the  old-age  and  length  of  days  of  the  world  should  in  reality 
be  accounted  antiquity,  and  ought  to  be  attributed  to  our  own 
times,  not  to  the  youth  of  the  world  which  it  enjoyed  among  the 
ancients ;  for  that  age,  though  with  respect  to  us  it  be  ancient 
and  greater,  yet  with  regard  to  the  world  it  was  new  and  less."* 
He  bore  testimony  to  the  genius  of  several  of  the  ancients, 
while  he  declared  that  their  genius  availed  them  nothing,  be 
cause  wrongly  employed  ;  adding,  in  his  usual  happy  style,  "  a 
cripple  in  the  right  way  may  beat  a  racer  in  the  wrong  one. 
Nay,  the  fleeter  the  racer  is,  who  has  once  missed  his  way,  the 
farther  he  leaves  it  behind."  "  We  have  an  example,"  he  says, 
"  in  Aristotle,  who  corrupted  natural  philosophy  with  Logic,  .  .  . 
being  all  along  more  solicitous  how  men  might  defend  them 
selves  by  answers,  and  advance  something  that  should  be  positive 
in  words,  than  to  come  at  the  inward  truth  of  nature.  ...  It 
is  true  his  books  of  animals,  problems,  and  other  pieces,  make 
frequent  use  of  experiments ;  but  then  he  first  pronounced  with 
out  their  assistance,  and  did  not  duly  consult  experience  in  form 
ing  his  degrees  and  axioms  /  but  after  he  had  passed  judgment 
according  to  his  own  humor,  he  winds  experience  round,  and 
leads  her  captive  to  his  own  opinions.  .  .  .  Another  great  reason 
of  the  slow  progress  of  the  sciences  is  this  :  that  it  is  impossible 
to  proceed  well  in  a  course  where  the  end  is  not  rightly  fixed 
and  defined.  Now,  the  true  and  genuine  end  of  the  sciences  is 
no  other  than  to  enrich  human  life  w^ith  new  inventions  and  new 
powers.  .  .  .  Fruits  and  discoveries  of  works  are  as  the  vouchers 
and  securities  for  the  truth  of  philosophies.  But  from  the  phi 
losophies  of  the  Greeks,  and  their  descents  through  particular 
sciences,  now  for  the  space  of  so  many  years  scarce  a  single  ex 
periment  can  be  produced  tending  to  accommodate  or  improve 


*  It  is  a  point  of  some  interest  to  ascertain  from  whom  Bacon  got  the 
aphorism  he  frequently  quotes  :  "  Antiquity  the  youth  of  the  world."  The 
idea  is  in  Seneca,  and  is  thus  expressed  by  Koger  Bacon :  "  Quanto  juniores 
tanto  perspicaciores,  quia  juniores,  posteriores  successione  temporum,  ingre- 
diuntur  labores  priorum." — Opus  M(jjus,  pars  i.  cap.  6,  p.  9. 


416  BACON. 

the  state  of  man,  that  may  be  justly  attributed  to  the  speculations 
and  doctrines  of  their  philosophy.  .  .  .  Therefore,  since  the  end 
of  the  sciences  has  not  hitherto  been  well  defined  by  any  one, 
we  need  not  wonder  if  men  have  erred  and  wandered  in  the 
things  subservient  to  the  proper  end.  Again,  if  this  end  had 
been  rightly  proposed,  yet  men  have  chosen  a  very  wrong  and 
impassable  ivay  to  proceed  in.  And  it  may  strike  any  one  with 
astonishment  who  duly  considers  it,  that  no  mortal  should  hither 
to  have  taken  care  to  open  and  prepare  a  way  for  the  human  un 
derstanding,  from  sense  and  a  well-conducted  experience ;  but  that 
all  things  should  be  left  either  to  the  darkness  of  tradition,  the 
giddy  agitation  and  whirlwind  of  argument,  or  else  to  the  uncer 
tain  waves  of  accident,  or  a  vague  and  uninformed  experience. 
Let  any  one  soberly  consider  what  the  way  is  which  men  have 
accustomed  themselves  to,  in  the  inquiry  and  discovery  of  any 
thing,  and  he  will  doubtless  find  that  the  manner  of  invention 
most  commonly  used  is  simple  and  unartful :  or  on  no  other 
than  this,  viz.  when  a  person  goes  upon  an  inquiry,  in  the  first 
place  he  searches  out  and  peruses  what  has  been  said  upon  it  by 
others ;  in  the  next  place  adds  his  own  thoughts  thereto ;  and 
lastly,  with  great  struggle  of  the  mind,  solicits  and  invokes,  as 
it  were,  his  own  spirit  to  deliver  him  oracles ;  which  is  a  method 
entirely  destitute  of  foundation,  and  rolls  wholly  upon  opinions. 
Others  may  call  in  the  assistance  of  logic ;  but  this  is  wholly  a 
nominal  assistance,  for  logic  does  not  discover  the  principles  and 
capital  axioms  upon  which  arts  are  built,  but  only  such  as  seem 
agreeable  thereto ;  and  when  men  are  curious  and  earnest  with 
it,  to  procure  proofs,  and  discover  principles  or  first  axioms,  it 
refers  them  to  faith,  or  puts  them  off  with  this  trite  and  common 
answer — that  every  artist  must  believe  in  his  own  art." 

Dugald  Stewart*  well  says,  "  that  the  idea  of  the  object  of  phy 
sical  science  (which  may  be  justly  regarded  as  the  groundwork 


*  In  the  excellent  Chapter  on  Induction,  Philos.  of  Mind,  vol.  ii.  ch.  iv. 
sect.  1. 


417 

of  Bacon's  Novum  Organum)  differs  essentially  from  what  was 
entertained  by  the  ancients,  according  to  whom  '  Philosophy  is 
the  science  of  causes?  If  indeed  by  causes  they  had  meant 
merely  the  constant  forerunners  or  antecedents  of  events,  the  de 
finition  would  have  coincided  nearly  with  the  statement  which 
I  have  given.  But  it  is  evident  that  by  causes  they  meant  such 
antecedents  as  were  necessarily  connected  with  the  effects,  and 
from  the  knowledge  of  which  the  effects  might  be  foreseen  and 
demonstrated.  And  it  was  owing  to  this  confusion  of  the  proper 
objects  of  Physics  and  Metaphysics  that,  neglecting  the  observa 
tion  of  facts  exposed  to  the  examination  of  their  senses,  they 
vainly  attempted,  by  synthetical  reasoning,  to  deduce,  as  neces 
sary  consequences  from  their  supposed  causes,  the  phenomena 
and  laws  of  nature." 

Dugald  Stewart  also  quotes  Aristotle's  express  declaration, 
that  to  know  the  physical  cause  is  also  to  know  the  efficient  cause  ; 
and  observes,  that  from  this  disposition  to  confound  efficient  with 
physical  causes,  may  be  traced  the  greater  part  of  the  theories 
recorded  in  the  history  of  philosophy.  It  is  this  which  has  given 
rise  to  the  attempts,  both  in  ancient  and  modern  times,  to  ac 
count  for  all  the  phenomena  of  moving  bodies  by  impulse  ;  and 
it  is  this,  also,  which  has  suggested  the  simpler  expedient  of  ex 
plaining  them  by  the  agency  of  minds  united  with  the  particles 
of  matter.  To  this  last  class  of  theories  may  also  be  referred  the 
explanations  of  physical  phenomena  by  such  causes  as  sympa 
thies,  antipathies,  nature's  horror  of  a  vacuum,  etc.,  and  other 
phrases  borrowed  by  analogy  from  the  attributes  of  animated 
beings. 

It  was  Bacon's  constant  endeavor,  as  it  has  been  the  cause  of 
his  enduring  fame,  to  teach  men  the  real  object  of  Science,  and 
the  scope  of  their  faculties,  and  to  furnish  them  with  a  proper 
Method  whereon  these  faculties  might  be  successfully  employed. 
He  thus  not  only  stands  clearly  out  in  history  as  the  exponent 
of  the  long-agitated  antagonism  to  all  the  ancient  and  scholastic 
thinkers,  but  also  as  the  exponent  of  the  rapidly  increasing  ten- 

18* 


418  BACON. 

dency  towards  positive  science.  He  is  essentially  modern.  All 
his  predecessors,  even  in  their  boldest  attacks  upon  ancient 
philosophy,  were  themselves  closely  allied  to  the  spirit  of  that 
which  they  opposed.  Ramus  is  the  child  of  Aristotle,  though 
he  raised  his  hand  against  his  father.  But  Bacon  was  modern 
in  culture,  in  object,  and  in  method.  He  attacked  the  ancient 
philosophy  without  having  thoroughly  understood  it :  he  attacked 
it,  because  he  saw  that  a  method  which  conducted  great  intelli 
gences  to  such  absurd  conclusions  as  those  then  in  vogue,  must 
necessarily  be  false. 

"Whence  can  arise,"  he  asks,  "such  vagueness  and  sterility 
in  all  the  physical  systems  which  have  hitherto  existed  in  the 
world  2  It  is  not,  certainly,  from  any  thing  in  nature  itself;  for 
the  steadiness  and  regularity  of  the  laws  by  which  it  is  governed, 
clearly  mark  them  out  as  objects  of  precise  and  certain  knowledge. 

"  Neither  can  it  arise  from  any  want  of  ability  in  those  who 
have  pursued  such  inquiries,  many  of  whom  have  been  men  of 
the  highest  talent  and  genius  of  the  ages  in  which  they  lived ; 
and  it  can  therefore  arise  from  nothing  else  but  the  perverseness 
and  insufficiency  of  the  methods  which  have  been  pursued.  Men 
have  sought  to  make  a  world  from  their  own  conceptions,  and  to 
draw  from  their  own  minds  all  the  materials  which  they  em 
ployed  ;  but  if,  instead  of  doing  so,  they  had  consulted  experi 
ence  and  observation,  they  would  have  had  facts,  and  not  opin 
ions,  to  reason  about,  and  might  have  ultimately  arrived  at  the 
knowledge  of  the  laws  which  govern  the  material  world. 

"  As  things  are  at  present  conducted,  a  sudden  transition  is 
made  from  sensible  objects  and  particular  facts  to  general  propo 
sitions,  which  are  accounted  principles,  and  round  which,  as  round 
so  many  fixed  polls,  disputation  and  argument  continually  re 
volve.  From  the  propositions  thus  hastily  assumed,  all  things 
are  derived  by  a  process  compendious  and  precipitate,  ill  suited  to 
discovery,  but  wonderfully  accommodated  to  debate. 

"  The  way  that  promises  success  is  the  reverse  of  this.  It  re 
quires  that  we  should  generalize  slowly,  going  from  particular 


419 

things  to  those  that  are  but  one  step  more  general ;  from  those 
to  others  of  still  greater  extent,  and  so  on  to  such  as  are  universal. 
By  such  means  we  may  hope  to  arrive  at  principles,  not  vague 
and  obscure,  but  luminous  and  well-defined,  such  as  Nature  her 
self  will  not  refuse  to  acknowledge." 

In  this  pregnant  passage  he  has  clearly  enough  pointed  out 
the  position  which  his  philosophy  was  to  occupy.  "  Many  other 
philosophers,"  as  Professor  Macvey  Napier  remarks,  "  both  an 
cient  and  modern,  had  referred  to  observation  and  experiment  in 
a  cursory  way,  as  furnishing  the  materials  of  physical  knowl 
edge  ;  but  no  one  before  him  had  attempted  to  systematize  the 
true  method  of  discovery  ;  or  to  prove  that  the  inductive  is  the 
only  method  by  which  the  genuine  office  of  philosophy  can  be 
exercised,  and  its  genuine  ends  accomplished.  It  has  sometimes 
been  stated  that  Galileo  was,  at  least,  in  an  equal  degree  with 
Bacon,  the  father  of  the  Inductive  Logic ;  but  it  would  be  more 
correct  to  say  that  his  discoveries  furnished  some  fortunate  illus 
trations  of  its  principles.  To  explain  these  principles  was  no 
object  of  his ;  nor  does  he  manifest  any  great  anxiety  to  recom 
mend  their  adoption  with  a  view  to  the  general  improvement  of 
science.  The  Aristotelian  disputant,  in  his  celebrated  Dialogues, 
is  made  frequently  to  appeal  to  observation  and  experiment ;  but 
the  interlocutor,  through  whom  Galileo  himself  speaks,  nowhere 
takes  occasion  to  distinguish  between  the  flimsy  inductions  of 
the  Stagirite,  in  regard  to  the  objects  in  dispute,  and  those  which 
he  himself  had  instituted,  or  to  hint  at  the  very  different  com 
plexion  which  philosophy  must  assume,  according  as  the  one 
kind  or  the  other  is  resorted  to."* 

§  IV.   WAS  THE  METHOD  NEW  AND  USEFUL? 

Bacon's  Method,  and  the  scientific  spirit  which  animates  his 
works,  have  been  indicated  in  the  foregoing  pages.  His  philo 
sophical  importance  is  to  be  measured  by  that  Method  and  that 

*  On  the  Scope  and  Influence  of  the  Philos.  Writings  of  Bacon :  Trans,  of 
the  Royal  Society  of  Edinburgh,  1618. 


420  BACON. 

spirit ;  not  by  any  scientific  discoveries.  A  mind  so  richly  stored 
could  not  fail  to  illustrate  his  writings  with  manifold  graces  of 
style,  and  with  pregnant  aphorisms.  Accordingly,  his  Method 
having  been  established,  and  been  superseded,  having  done  its 
work,  nothing  remains  for  our  profit  but  these  very  graces  and 
aphorisms.  The  great  reformer  may  excite  our  admiration,  his 
torically  /  his  Method  excites  no  admiration  for  its  present  in 
trinsic  value.  We  have  a  more  perfect  Method ;  the  processes 
of  scientific  investigation  are  better  understood ;  but  we  are  never 
in  communion  with  his  vast  and  penetrating  intellect  without 
acknowledging  his  greatness ;  for  his  remarks  are  often  as  appli 
cable  now  as  they  were  when  first  written.  Hence  the  frequency 
of  quotations  from  Bacon  ;  and  these  quotations,  as  Dr.  Whewell 
observes,  are  more  frequently  made  by  metaphysical,  ethical,  and 
even  theological  writers,  than  they  are  by  the  authors  of  works 
on  Physics.  For  the  present  generation,  then,  whatever  the  value 
of  Bacon's  works,  Bacon's  Method  is  useless.  Some  modern  wri 
ters  have  asserted  that  it  was  always  useless ;  and  this  assertion 
has  been  supported  by  arguments  so  plausible,  that  they  demand 
attention. 

The  objections  made  to  Bacon's  Method  are  of  three  kinds. 
1st.  It  was  nothing  new ;  2d.  It  was  useless  as  a  guide  to  inves 
tigation  ;  3d.  It  was  already  latent  in  the  scientific  spirit  then 
abroad,  and  must  have  been  elicited  by  some  one,  sooner  or 
later. 

"  It  was  nothing  new."  This  is  a  very  frequent  objection,  and 
is  urged  by  the  Count  Joseph  de  Maistre  and  Mr.  Macau  lay. 
The  former  has  written  a  long  chapter  to  prove  that  Bacon's  In 
duction  is  nothing  more  than  the  Induction  of  Aristotle ;  and 
Mr.  Macaulay,  who  adopts  the  same  opinion,  devotes  several  viva 
cious  pages  to  show  that  everybody  unconsciously  practices  this 
inductive  Method.  M.  de  Maistre's  Examen  de  la  Philosophic  de 
Bacon  is  a  vehement  attack,  written  with  the  celebrated  author's 
usual  vivacity,  but  with  more  than  his  usual  arrogance  and  ve 
hemence.  As  there  are  many  things  in  Bacon  hasty,  inexact,  or 


WAS  BACON'S  METHOD  NEW  AND  USEFUL?         421 

partaking  of  the  prejudices  and  errors  of  his  age,  his  antagonist 
is  at  no  loss  to  find  matter  for  ridicule ;  but  when  he  treats  of 
Bacon's  Method  and  Spirit  as  contemptible  puerilities,  he  only  ex 
cites  a  smile  in  the  dispassionate  reader.  His  arguments  against 
Bacon's  Method  are,  first,  that  Aristotle  had  analyzed  it  before 
him ;  secondly,  that  Induction  is  only  one  form  of  the  Syllogism. 

It  is  true  that  Aristotle  told  us  what  Induction  was  ;  but  it  is 
not  true  that  he  analyzed  it,  as  Bacon  has  done ;  nor  did  he  ever 
pronounce  it  to  be  the  Method  of  inquiry :  on  the  contrary,  it 
only  served  him  as  one  of  the  means  of  ascertaining  truth,  and 
was  not  so  important  in  his  eyes  as  the  Syllogism.  Bacon  asserts 
Induction  to  be  the  only  Method ;  and  has  no  words  too  strong 
to  express  his  scorn  of  the  Syllogism,  "  which  may  catch  the  as 
sent,  but  lets  the  things  slip  through."  Dugald  Stewart  observes 
that  we  might  as  well  declare  that  the  ancients  had  anticipated 
Newton  because  they  too  used  the  word  **  attraction,"  as  that  Ar 
istotle  anticipated  Bacon  because  he  too  speaks  of  "  Induction."* 
This  is,  however,  going  too  far  the  other  way.  In  our  Chapter 
on  the  Stag! rite  we  have  indicated  the  relation  in  which  the  two 
conceptions  stand  to  each  other. 

M.  de  Maistre  says  that  Induction  and  Syllogism  are  the  same. 
"  At  bottom,  what  is  Induction  ?  Aristotle  clearly  saw  it :  It  is 
a  syllogism  without  the  middle  term — stfn  $=  o  <rojou<ro£  a 'uXXo^ 'jtffAoj 
TY<S  tfpurris  xca  dpisVou  7r'po=ra0'£W£.  (Anal.  Prior,  ii.  12.)  What 
does  it  signify  whether  I  say,  Every  simple  being  is  indestructible 
l)y  nature  j  now  my  soul  is  a  simple  being,  therefore,  etc. ;  or 
whether  I  say  directly,  My  soul  is  simple,  it  is  therefore  inde 
structible.  In  either  case  it  is  the  syllogism  which  is  virtually 
in  the  induction,  as  it  is  in  the  enthymeme." 

Now  it  is  quite  true  that  every  induction  may  be  thrown  into 
the  form  of  a  syllogism  by  supplying  the  major  premise ;  and 
it  is  this  which  led  Archbishop  Whately  to  conclude  that  Induc 
tion  itself  is  but  a  peculiar  case  of  ratiocination,  and  that  the 
universal  type  of  all  reasoning  is  the  syllogism.  We  cannot  but 
*  P kilos,  of  Mind,  vol.  ii.  ch.  iv.  sect.  2. 


422  BACON. 

agree  with  John  Mill  in  holding  precisely  the  reverse  opinion, 
and  believing  that  ratiocination  itself  is  resolvable  into  Induc 
tion.*  Be  this  as  it  may,  M.  de  Maistre  has  afforded  us  an  illus 
tration  of  the  difference  between  Aristotle  and  Bacon  in  the  very 
passage  quoted. 

If  every  induction  can  be  thrown  into  the  form  of  a  syllogism, 
by  supplying  the  major  premise,  it  is  in  the  way  this  major 
premise  is  established  that  we  must  seek  the  real  difference  be 
tween  the  Syllogistic  and  Inductive  Methods  :  and  that  difference 
is  the  difference  between  a  priori  and  a  posteriori.  Every  one 
who  has  read  Bacon,  knows  that  his  scorn  for  the  Syllogism  is 
not  scorn  for  it  as  a  form  of  ratiocination,  but  as  a  means  of  in 
vestigation.  He  objects  to  our  proceeding  to  deduce  from  an 
axiom  not  accurately  and  inductively  obtained,  consequences 
which  may  very  well  be  contained  in  the  axiom,  although  hav 
ing  no  relation  to  the  truth  of  things.  "  The  axioms  in  use,  be 
ing  derived  from  slender  experience  and  a  few  obvious  particu 
lars,  are  generally  applied  in  a  corresponding  manner ;  no  won 
der  they  lead  not  to  new  particulars."!  Again :  "  Syllogism 
consists  of  propositions,  propositions  of  words,  and  words  are 
the  signs  of  notions ;  therefore,  if  our  notions,  the  basis  of  all, 
are  confused,  and  over-hastily  taken  from  things,  nothing  that  is 
built  upon  them  can  be  firm ;  whence  our  only  hope  rests  upon 
genuine  Induction."^ 

Nothing  can  be  more  explicit.  Bacon  very  well  knew  the  dif 
ference  between  his  Method  and  that  of  the  Aristotelians ;  and 
he  very  well  expressed  this  difference.  To  turn  round  upon  him 
and  say  all  Induction  is  itself  but  Syllogism,  is  mere  evasion. 
He  was  not  giving  a  logical  analysis  of  the  mind :  he  was  warn 
ing  men  against  long-standing  errors,  and  pointing  out  to  them 
the  path  of  truth. 

Mr.  Macaulay's  arguments  are  of  a  different  stamp.  To  us 
they  are  only  ingenious  and  plausible ;  yet  so  ingenious  and  so 

*  See  System  of  Logic,  vol.  i.  pp.  372-3. 

t  Novum  Organum,  Apb.  25.  \  Ibid.,  Apli.  14. 


WAS  BACON'S  METHOD  NEW  AND  USEFUL?         423 

plausible  as  to  gain  many  followers.  They  are  mostly  true  as 
far  as  they  go,  but  do  not  appear  to  us  to  go  to  the  real  point. 
We  shall  select  the  main  parts  of  his  opposition  : 

"The  inductive  method  has  been  practised  ever  since  the  be 
ginning  of  the  world,  by  every  human  being.  It  is  constantly 
practised  by  the  most  ignorant  clown,  who  by  this  method  is  led 
to  the  conclusion,  that  if  he  sows  barley  he  shall  not  reap  wheat. 
A  plain  man  finds  his  stomach  out  of  order.  He  never  heard  ot 
Lord  Bacon's  name ;  but  he  proceeds  in  the  strictest  conformity 
with  the  rules  laid  down  in  the  second  book  of  the  Novum  Or- 
ganum,  and  satisfies  himself  that  mince-pies  have  done  the  mis 
chief.  'I  ate  mince-pies  on  Monday  and  Wednesday,  and  was 
kept  awake  by  indigestion  all  night.'  This  is  the  comparentia 
ad  intellectum  instantiarum  convenientium.  '  I  did  not  eat  any  on 
Tuesday  and  Friday,  and  I  was  quite  well.'  This  is  the  comparentia 
instantiarum  in  proximo  quce  natura  data  privantur.  'I  ate 
very  sparingly  of  them  on  Sunday,  and  was  very  slightly  indis 
posed  in  the  evening.  But  on  Christmas-day  I  almost  dined  on 
them,  and  was  so  ill  that  I  was  in  some  danger.'  This  is  the 
comparentia  instantiarum  secundum  magis  ct  minus.  '  It  cannot 
be  the  brandy  which  I  took  with  them  ;  for  I  have  drunk  brandy 
for  years,  without  being  the  worse  for  it.'  This  is  the  rejectio 
naturarum.  We  might  easily  proceed,  but  we  have  already  suf 
ficiently  explained  our  meaning." 

The  answer  to  this  is,  that  Induction  being  the  process  of  all 
reasoning,  of  course  so  long  as  men  have  reasoned  they  have 
reasoned  inductively.  But  there  is  simple  and  incautious  Induc 
tion,  and  there  is  cautious  methodical  Induction, — instinct  and 
science ;  in  ordinary  cases,  men  pursue  the  induction  per  enu- 
merationem  simplicem  ;  in  scientific  investigations  they  must  pur 
sue  a  very  different  method ;  and  at  the  time  Bacon  wrote,  al 
most  all  philosophical  and  scientific  speculations  were  vitiated  by 
the  incorrect  method. 

"  Those  who  object  to  the  importance  of  Bacon's  precepts  in 
philosophy,"  says  Mr.  Hallam,  "  that  mankind  have  practised 


424:  BACON. 

many  of  them  immemorially,  are  rather  confirming  their  utility 
than  taking  off  much  from  their  originality,  in  any  fair  sense  of 
the  term.  Every  logical  method  is  built  on  the  common  facul 
ties  of  human  nature,  which  have  been  exercised  since  the  crea 
tion,  in  discerning — better  or  worse — truth  from  falsehood,  and 
inferring  the  unknown  from  the  known.  That  men  might  have 
done  this  more  correctly,  is  manifest  from  the  quantity  of  error 
into  which,  from  want  of  reasoning  well  on  what  came  before 
them,  they  have  habitually  fallen.  In  experimental  philosophy, 
to  which  the  more  special  rules  of  Lord  Bacon  are  generally  re 
ferred,  there  was  a  notorious  want  of  that  very  process  of  reason 
ing  which  he  supplied."*  "  Nothing  can  be  more  certain,"  as 
Professor  Napier  observes,  "than  that  Bacon  rests  the  whole 
hopes  of  his  philosophy  on  the  novelty  of  his  logical  precepts ; 
and  that  he  uniformly  represents  the  ancient  philosophers,  par 
ticularly  Aristotle,  as  having  been  wholly  regardless  of  the  in 
ductive  method  in  their  physical  inquiries.  Bacon  does  not  in 
deed  say  that  the  ancient  philosophers  never  employed  themselves 
in  observing  Nature ;  but  he  maintains  that  there  is  a  wide  dif 
ference  between  observation,  as  it  was  employed  by  them,  and 
the  art  of  observing  for  the  purposes  of  philosophical  discovery."]- 
Men  in  Bacon's  time  reasoned  like  the  facetious  judge  in  Mr. 
Macaulay's  anecdote,  "who  was  in  the  habit  of  jocosely  pro 
pounding,  after  dinner,  a  theory,  that  the  cause  of  the  prevalence 
of  Jacobinism  was  the  practice  of  bearing  three  names.  He 
quoted,  on  the  one  side,  Charles  James  Fox,  Richard  Brinsley 
Sheridan,  John  Home  Tooke,  John  Philpot  Curran,  Samuel 
Taylor  Coleridge,  Theobald  Wolfe  Tone.  These  were  instant  ice 
convenientes.  He  then  proceeded  to  cite  instances  absentia;  in 
proximo — William  Pitt,  John  Scott,  William  Wyndham,  Samuel 
Horsley,  Henry  Dundas,  Edmund  Burke.  He  might  have  gone 


*  Hist,  of  Lit.  of  Europe,  iii.  182. 

t  Dissertation  on  the  Scope  and  Influence  of  Bacon's  Writings,  p.  13.  See, 
also,  a  passage  to  the  same  effect  in  Herschel's  Discourse,  pp.  113,  114,  which 
we  do  not  quote,  because  the  work  is  in  everybody's  hands. 


WAS  BACON'S  METHOD  NEW  AND  USEFUL?         425 

on  to  instances  secundum  magis  et  minus.  The  practice  of  giv 
ing  children  three  names  has  been  for  some  time  a  growing  prac 
tice,  and  Jacobinism  has  also  been  growing.  The  practice  of 
giving  children  three  names  is  more  common  in  America  than 
in  England.  In  England  we  have  still  a  King  and  a  House  of 
Lords ;  but  the  Americans  are  Republicans.  The  rejectiones  are 
obvious.  Burke  and  Wolfe  Tone  were  both  Irishmen ;  therefore 
the  being  an  Irishman  is  not  the  cause.  In  this  way  our  induc 
tive  philosopher  arrives  at  what  Bacon  calls  the  vintage,  and 
pronounces  that  having  three  names  is  the  cause  of  Jacobinism." 

This  is  a  very  good  theory  for  a  jocular"one ;  but  we  are  sur 
prised  to  find  so  acute  a  writer  as  Mr.  Macaulay  speaking  of  it  in 
the  terms  he  does :  "  Here  is  an  induction  corresponding  with 
Bacon's  analysis,  and  ending  in  a  monstrous  absurdity.  In 
what  then  does  this  induction  differ  from  the  induction  which 
leads  us  to  the  conclusion  that  the  presence  of  the  sun  is  the 
cause  of  our  having  more  light  by  day  than  by  night?  The 
difference  evidently  is,  not  in  the  kind  of  instances,  but  in  the 
number  of  instances  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  difference  is  not  in  that 
part  of  the  process  for  which  Bacon  has  given  precise  rules,  but 
in  a  circumstance  for  which  no  precise  rule  can  possibly  be  given. 
If  the  learned  author  of  the  theory  about  Jacobinism  had  en 
larged  either  of  the  tables  a  little,  his  system  would  have  been 
destroyed.  The  names  of  Tom  Paine  and  William  Windham 
Grenville  would  have  been  sufficient  to  do  the  work." 

We  especially  dissent  from  the  clause  printed  in  italics,  which 
seems  to  us  at  variance  with  all  sound  Induction.  It  is  precisely 
the  kind  of  instances  adduced  in  the  theory,  which  makes  the 
theory  absurd.  The  whole  theory  is  a  gross  example  of  "  causa 
tion  inferred  from  casual  conjunction,  without  any  presumption 
arising  from  known  properties  of  the  supposed  agent:  which  is 
the  characteristic  of  empiricism."  Although  in  this  theory  there 
has  been  a  certain  superficial  elimination  employed,  yet  that  elim 
ination  is  obviously  too  incomplete  for  any  satisfactory  result. 
Mr.  Macaulay  subsequently  asks,  What  number  of  instances  is 


426  BACON. 

sufficient  to  justify  belief?  After  how  many  experiments  would 
Jenner  have  been  justified  in  believing  vaccination  to  be  a  safe 
guard  against  the  smallpox  ?  We  answer  that  the  number  of 
instances  depends  on  the  kind  of  instances,  and  on  the  theory 
which  presides  over  their  collection.  In  proportion  as  the  facts 
adduced  are  complex,  must  the  theory  which  would  explain 
them  be  consistent  with  all  other  known  truths,  before  the  facts 
themselves  can  have  any  significance. 

Bacon's  originality  is  in  no  way  affected  by  proving  that  all 
men  at  all  times,  when  they  reasoned  correctly,  reasoned  induc 
tively.  Moreover,  in  Bacon's  particular  department,  men  had 
notoriously  pursued  a  wrong  Method.*  They  were  not  aware  of 
the  necessity,  which  he  declared  there  was  in  all  investigations, 
to  proceed  upon  a  graduated  and  successive  Induction.  Bacon 
first  made  them  aware  of  this ;  and,  as  Dr.  Whewell  says,  "  the- 
truly  remarkable  circumstance  is  to  find  this  recommendation  of 
a  continuous  advance  from  observation,  by  limited  steps,  through 
successive  gradations  of  generality,  given  at  a  time  when  specu 
lative  men  in  general  had  only  just  begun  to  perceive  that  they 
must  begin  their  course  from  experience  in  some  way  or  other. 
...  In  catching  sight  of  this  principle,  and  in  ascribing  to  it 
its  due  importance,  Bacon's  sagacity,  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
wrought  unassisted  and  unrivalled."f 

The  second  question  now  presents  itself.  Was  the  method 
useful  as  a  guide  in  investigation  ?  Many  persons  have  declared 
it  to  be  useless.  Mr.  Macaulay  is  of  the  same  opinion.  He  says, 
with  great  truth,  "By  stimulating  men  to  the  discovery  of  new 
truth,  Bacon  stimulated  them  to  employ  the  inductive  method — 


*  And  this  in  spite  of  the  warning  so  emphatically  given  three  centuries 
before  Francis  Bacon,  by  his  great  namesake  Koger  Bacon :  "  Sine  experien- 
tia  nihil  sufficienter  sciri  potest.  Duo  enim  stint  modi  cognoscendi,  scilicet 
per  argumentum  ct  experimentum.  Argumentum  concludit  et  facit  nos  con- 
cludere  quaestionem,  sed  non  certificat  neque  removet  dubitationem,  ut 
quiescat  animus  in  intuitu  veritatis,  nisi  cam  inveniat  via  experientise." — 
Opus  Majus,  pars  vi.  cap.  i. 

f  Phtios.  of  Inductive  Sciences,  ii.  395,  896. 


427 

the  only  method  by  which  truth  can  be  discovered.  By  stimu 
lating  men  to  the  discovery  of  useful  truth,  lie  furnished  them 
with  a  motive  to  perform  the  inductive  process  well  and  care 
fully.  His  predecessors  had  been  anticipators  of  Nature.  They 
had  been  content  with  first  principles,  at  which  they  had  ar 
rived  by  the  most  scanty  and  slovenly  induction.  And  why  was 
this  ?  It  was,  we  conceive,  because  their  philosophy  proposed 
to  itself  no  practical  end,  because  it  was  merely  an  exercise  of 
the  mind.  A  man  who  wants  to  contrive  a  new  machine,  or  a 
new  medicine,  has  a  strong  motive  to  observe  patiently  and  ac 
curately,  and  to  try  experiment  after  experiment;  but  a  man 
who  merely  wants  a  theme  for  disputation,  or  declamation,  has 
no  such  motive." 

Now  in  this  passage,  as  it  seems  to  us,  the  very  merit  we  are 
claiming  for  Bacon  is  conceded.  We  are  told  that  Bacon  stimu 
lated  men  to  employ  the  Inductive  Method — the  only  method  by 
which  new  truth  could  be  discovered.  Who  pointed  out  the  futil 
ity  of  anticipating  Nature  ? — Bacon.  Who  exposed  the  "  scanty 
and  slovenly  induction"  of  the  Schoolmen  ? — Bacon.  His  merit 
is  not  simply  that  of  stimulating  men  to  the  discovery  of  new 
lands,  but  of  also  affording  them  chart  and  compass  wherewith  to 
discover  the  new  lands.  There  were  several  eminent  men,  his 
predecessors  and  contemporaries,  who  all  rose  up  against  the  an 
cient  systems,  and  stimulated  men  to  the  discovery  of  useful  truth ; 
but  these  men,  although  all  of  them  constantly  insisted  upon  ob 
servation  and  experiment,  had  no  glimpse,  or  only  a  very  partial 
and  confused  glimpse,  of  the  Inductive  Method.  So  that  when 
Mr.  Macaulay  says,  "  It  was  not  by  furnishing  philosophers  with 
rules  for  performing  the  inductive  process  well,  but  by  furnishing 
them  with  a  motive  for  performing  it  well,  that  he  conferred  so 
vast  a  benefit  on  society,"  we  believe  he  is  contradicted,  on  all 
sides,  by  history.  The  motive  had  been  given  by  many — indeed, 
one  may  say  that  it  was  a  tendency  of  the  age ;  the  rules  had 
been  devised  by  no  one  but  himself.  These  rules,  it  is  true,  were 
far  from  perfect ;  but  they  constitute  the  beginning,  and  form  the 


428  BACON. 

basis  of  the  more  perfect  structure  which  successors  have  erected. 
Mr.  Macaulay's  argument  receives  its  force  solely  from  what  we 
cannot  but  regard  as  his  misconception  of  the  Baconian  Induction. 
That  Induction  he  declares  to  be  daily  performed  by  every  man ; 
but  this  is  confounding  ordinary  Induction  with  scientific  Induc 
tion.  It  is  confounding  a  simple  inference,  with  a  long  and  com 
plicated  process  of  inference.  It  is  confounding  what  Bacon  in 
cessantly  and  emphatically  distinguishes,  viz.  Induction  with  the 
Inductive  Method ;  and  this  confusion  has  probably  influenced 
him  in  the  selection  of  his  illustrations.  None  of  the  things  he 
has  named  require  a  complicated  process  of  reasoning  for  their 
discovery.  If  a  man  wants  to  make  a  shoe,  he  needs  inductions, 
but  is  certainly  in  no  need  of  the  Inductive  Method;  if  he  wants 
to  discover  a  law  of  Nature,  the  Inductive  Method  is  indispensa 
ble.  Mr.  Macaulay  will  not  maintain  that  the  ordinary  man,  who 
wishes  to  find  out  a  law  of  Nature,  proceeds  in  his  inquiry  by  a 
graduated  and  successive  Induction  from  particulars  to  generals, 
and  from  generals  to  those  which  are  still  more  general ;  and  this 
without  "  anticipation"  of  Nature — without  rash  and  hasty  leap 
ing  from  one  particular  to  some  extreme  generality.  In  fact, 
although  Induction,  as  the  type  of  reasoning,  must  be  carried 
on  by  every  reasoning  animal,  yet  so  far  is  the  Inductive  Method 
from  being  the  ordinary  process  of  ordinary  men,  that  we  know 
of  scarcely  any  process  so  contrary  to  the  natural  bias  of  the 
mind.  Bacon  has  more  than  once  alluded  to  this  bias,  which 
makes  us  judge  hastily,  and  on  the  slenderest  evidence.  In 
deed,  the  Inductive  Method  requires  a  constant  and  watchful 
repression  of  our  natural  tendency  to  "  anticipate,"  and  endeavor, 
by  a  short  cut,  to  abridge  the  long  journey  which  conducts  us  to 
the  Truth. 

But  while  we  think  Mr.  Macaulay  underrates  the  importance  of 
the  inductive  rules,  we  quite  agree  with  him  that  Bacon  overrated 
their  importance.  "  Our  method  of  discovery  in  science,"  so  runs 
one  of  his  aphorisms,  "is  of  such  a  nature  that  there  is  not  much 
left  to  acuteness  and  strength  of  genius,  but  all  degrees  of  genius 


WAS  BACON'S  METHOD  NEW  AND  USEFUL?         429 

and  intellect  are  brought  nearly  to  the  same  level."*  This  is  con 
tradicted  by  every  two  men  engaging  in  scientific  pursuits.  In 
proportion  to  the  effectiveness  of  the  instrument,  will  the  original 
superiority  make  itself  more  manifest.  Place  axes  in  the  hands  of 
two  men  commissioned  to  make  a  clearing  in  the  forest,  and  the 
stronger  man  will  be  at  a  greater  advantage  than  he  was  before. 
Moreover  the  Method,  however  excellent  when  followed,  cannot 
force  men  to  follow  it :  the  natural  bias  of  the  mind  is  against  it. 
Mr.  Macaulay  therefore  is  perfectly  right  in  preferring  the  spirit 
of  Bacon's  Method  to  the  rules  given  in  the  second  book  of  the 
Organum. 

There  is  however  another  reason  why  the  spirit  is  preferable  to 
the  rules ;  and  that  reason  is  the  incompleteness  of  those  rules. 
The  radical  defect  of  Bacon's  method  lies  in  its  being  inductive, 
and  not  also  deductive.  He  was  so  deeply  impressed  with  a  sense 
of  the  insufficiency  of  the  Deductive  Method  alone,  which  he  saw 
his  contemporaries  pursuing,  and  which  he  knew  to  be  the  cause 
of  the  failure  of  his  predecessors,  that  he  bestowed  all  his  attention 
on  the  Inductive  Method.  His  want  of  mathematical  knowledge 
had  also  no  small  share  in  this  error.  Although  however  it  may 
be  justly  said  that  he  did  not  sufficiently  exemplify  the  Deductive 
Method,  it  is  not  correct  to  say  that  he.  entirely  neglected  it. 
Those  who  assert  this,  forget  that  the  second  part  of  the  Novum 
Organum  was  never  completed.  In  the  second  part  it  was  his 
intention  to  treat  of  Deduction,  as  is  plain  from  the  following  pas 
sage  :  "  The  indications  for  the  interpretation  of  Nature  include  two 
general  parts.  The  first  relates  to  the  raising  of  Axioms  from  ex 
perience  ;  and  the  second,  to  the  deducing  or  deriving  of  new 
experiments  from  Axioms  (de  ducendis  aut  derivandis  experi- 
mentis  novis  ab  axiomatibus)."f  We  here  see  that  he  compre 
hended  the  two-fold  nature  of  the  method ;  but  inasmuch  as  he 
did  not  publish  the  second  part  of  his  Organum,  we  may  admit 
the  remark  of  Professor  Playfair,  that  "in  a  very  extensive  depart- 

*  N&vum  Organum,  i.  Aph.  61.  t  Ibid.,  ii.  Aph.  10. 


430  BACON. 

meat  of  physical  science,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  investigation 
has  been  carried  on,  not  perhaps  more  easily,  but  with  a  less  fre 
quent  appeal  to  experience,  than  the  rules  of  the  Novum  Organum 
would  seem  to  require.  In  all  physical  inquiries  where  mathemat 
ical  reasoning  has  been  employed,  after  a  few  principles  have 
been  established  by  experience,  a  vast  multitude  of  truths,  equally 
certain  with  the  principles  themselves,  have  been  deduced  from 
them  by  the  mere  application  of  geometry  and  algebra.  .  .  .  The 
strict  method  of  Bacon  is  therefore  only  necessary  where  the 
thing  to  be  explained  is  new,  and  where  we  have  no  knowledge, 
or  next  to  none,  of  the  powers  employed."* 

His  deficiency  in  mathematical  knowledge  caused  him  to  over 
look  the  equal  importance  of  Deduction  and  Induction  : — "  Bacon 
has  judiciously  remarked,  that  the  axiomata  media  of  every  sci 
ence  principally  constitute  its  value.  The  lowest  generalizations, 
until  explained  by  and  resolved  into  the  middle  principles,  of 
which  they  are  the  consequences,  have  only  the  imperfect  accu 
racy  of  empirical  laws  ;  while  the  most  general  laws  are  too  gen 
eral,  and  include  too  few  circumstances  to  give  sufficient  indica 
tion  of  what  happens  in  individual  cases,  where  the  circumstan 
ces  are  almost  always  immensely  numerous.  In  the  importance 
therefore  which  Bacon  assigns,  in  every  science,  to  the  middle 
principles,  it  is  impossible  not  to  agree  with  him.  But  I  con 
ceive  him  to  have  been  radically  wrong  in  his  doctrine  respecting 
the  mode  in  which  these  axiomata  media  should  be  arrived  at ; 
although  there  is  no  one  proposition  in  his  works  for  which  he 
has  been  so  extravagantly  eulogized.  He  enunciates,  as  a  uni 
versal  rule,  that  induction  should  proceed  from  the  lowest  to  the 
middle  principles,  and  from  those  to  the  highest,  never  reversing 
that  order,  and  consequently  leaving  no  room  for  the  discovery 
of  new  principles  by  way  of  deduction  at  all.  It  is  not  to  be 
conceived  that  a  man  of  Bacon's  sagacity  could  have  fallen  into 
this  mistake,  if  there  had  existed  in  his  time,  among  the  sciences 

*  Dissertation,  pp.  58,  61. 


WAS  BACON'S  METHOD  NEW  AND  USEFUL?         431 

which  treat  of  successive  phenomena,  one  single  deductive  sci 
ence,  such  as  mechanics,  astronomy,  optics,  acoustics,  etc.,  now 
are.  In  those  sciences,  it  is  evident  that  the  higher  and  middle 
principles  are  by  no  means  derived  from  the  lowest,  but  the  re 
verse.  In  some  of  them,  the  very  highest  generalizations  were 
those  earliest  ascertained  with  any  scientific  exactness;  as,  for 
example  (in  mechanics),  the  laws  of  motion.  Those  general 
laws  had  not  indeed  at  first  the  acknowledged  universality  which 
they  acquired  after  having  been  successfully  employed  to  explain 
many  classes  of  phenomena  to  which  they  were  not  originally 
seen  to  be  applicable  ;  as  when  the  laws  of  motion  were  em 
ployed  in  conjunction  with  other  laws  to  explain  deductively  the 
celestial  phenomena.  Still  the  fact  remains,  that  the  proposi 
tions  which  were  afterwards  recognized  as  the  most  general 
truths  of  the  science,  were,  of  all  its  accurate  generalizations, 
those  earliest  arrived  at. 

"  Bacon's  greatest  merit  therefore  cannot  consist,  as  we  are  so 
often  told  that  it  did,  in  exploding  the  vicious  method  pursued 
by  the  ancients,  of  flying  to  the  highest  generalizations  for  it, 
and  deducing  the  middle  principles  from  them,  since  this  is 
neither  a  vicious  nor  an  exploded  method,  but  the  universally 
accredited  method  of  modern  science,  and  that  to  which  it  owes 
its  greatest  triumphs.  The  error  of  ancient  speculation  did  not 
consist  in  making  the  largest  generalizations  first,  but  in  making 
them  without  the  aid  or  warrant  of  rigorous  inductive  methods, 
and  applying  them  deductively  without  the  needful  use  of  that 
important  part  of  the  deductive  method  termed  verification."* 

This  passage  certainly  lays  bare  the  weakness  of  Bacon's 
Method  ;  and  does  so,  we  believe,  for  the  first  time.  But  we 
cannot  entirely  concur  in  the  concluding  paragraph.  Although 
Bacon  did  not  perhaps  see  the  real  importance  of  the  Deductive 
Method,  he  did  see  the  futility  of  the  Deductive  Method  em 
ployed  before  his  time  ;  and  he  saw  moreover  that  the  cause  lay 

*  Mill's  System  &f  Logic,  ii.  524-6. 


432  BACON. 

in  the  want  of  u  verification" — in  the  want  of  "  the  aid  or  war 
rant  of  rigorous  inductive  methods:"  this  we  must  think  his 
greatest  merit,  as  we  think  his  imperfect  conception  of  the  De 
ductive  Method  his  greatest  imperfection. 

There  is  also  another  potent  reason  why  the  merely  Inductive 
Method  should  not  have  contributed  to  any  great  discoveries ; 
and  we  must  again  borrow  from  the  System  of  Logic  the  passage 
wherein  this  is  exhibited  : 

"  It  has  excited  the  surprise  of  philosophers  that  the  detailed 
system  of  inductive  logic  has  been  turned  to  so  little  direct  use 
by  subsequent  inquirers, — having  neither  continued,  except  in  a 
few  of  its  generalities,  to  be  recognized  as  a  theory,  nor  having 
conducted,  in  practice,  to  any  great  scientific  results.  But  this, 
though  not  unfrequently  remarked,  has  scarcely  received  any 
plausible  explanation ;  and  some  indeed  have  preferred  to  assert 
that  all  rules  of  induction  are  useless,  rather  than  suppose  that 
Bacon's  rules  are  grounded  upon  an  insufficient  analysis  of  the 
inductive  process.  Such  however  will  be  seen  to  be  the  fact,  as 
soon  as  it  is  considered  that  Bacon  entirely  overlooked  plurality 
of  causes.  All  his  rules  tacitly  imply  the  assumption,  so  con 
trary  to  all  we  know  of  Nature,  that  a  phenomenon  cannot  have 
more  than  one  cause."* 

In  another  passage,  too  long  for  extract,  the  same  author  points 
out  a  capital  error  in  Bacon's  view  of  the  inductive  philosophy, 
viz.  his  supposition  that  the  principle  of  elimination — that  great 
logical  instrument  which  he  had  the  immense  merit  of  first 
bringing  into  use — was  applicable  in  the  same  sense,  and  in  the 
same  unqualified  manner,  to  the  investigation  of  co-existences,  as 
to  that  of  the  successions  of  plienomena.\ 

In  conclusion,  it  may  be  said  that  Bacon's  conception  of  a 
scientific  Method  was  magnificent,  as  far  as  it  went ;  but  in  con 
sequence  of  certain  deficiencies,  owing  principally  to  the  want  of 
any  established  science  as  a  model,  the  Method  he  laid  down  was 

*  System  of  Logic,  ii.  373.  t  Ibid.,  ii.  127  et  seq. 


WAS  BACON'S  METHOD  NEW  AND  USEFUL?         433 

only  indirectly  useful.  If  it  did  not  produce  great  discoveries,  it 
certainly  did  exercise  an  important  influence  on  the  minds  of 
those  who  were  afterwards  to  make  great  discoveries.  "  The 
way  to  prove  that  Bacon's  writings  w7ere  powerful  agents  in  the 
advancement  of  physical  knowledge,"  says  Professor  Napier,  "  is 
to  prove  that  they  produced  these  effects  (viz.  the  overthrow  of 
existing  methods — stimulus  given  to  experimental  inquiry — and 
ingenious  views  and  principles  requisite  for  such  inquiry) ;  and 
the  proof  that  such  effects  were  actually  produced  by  them,  must 
necessarily  be  derived  from  the  testimony  of  those  who  early  ex 
perienced,  or  became  otherwise  acquainted  with,  their  operation." 
And  the  greater  part  of  his  instructive  Essay  is  devoted  to  this 
proof.  The  proofs  are  numerous  and  decisive,  gathered  not  only 
from  the  English  and  French  writers,  but  also  from  Italian  and 
German. 

And  now  the  last  question  presents  itself,  Was  not  Bacon's 
Method  latent  in  the  scientific  spirit  of  the  age  ?  Yes  ;  just  as 
much  as  the  invention  of  the  steam-engine  was  latent  in  the 
knowledge  and  tendencies  of  the  age  of  Watt.  What  does  in 
vention  mean  more  than  the  finding  what  others  are  still  seek 
ing?  were  it  not  hidden  somewhere,  no  one  could  find  it.  Let 
no  one  therefore  endeavor  to  rob  a  great  man  of  his  fame  by  de 
claring  that  the  thing  found  was  lying  ready  to  be  found,  and 
would  have  sooner  or  later  been  found  by  some  one.  Yes,  by 
some  one  who  had  eyes  to  see  what  his  fellow-men  could  not 
see  :  by  some  other  great  man.  How  was  it  that  Bacon's  im 
mediate  predecessors  and  contemporaries  did  not  detect  this 
latent  method  ?  It  was  lying  there  as  open  for  inspection  to 
them  as  to  him.  Why  did  he  alone  find  it  ?  Because  he  alone 
was  competent  to  find  it. 

It  is  very  true  that  in  his  day,  and  previously,  great  discover 
ies  had  been  made  ;  and  as  they  only  could  be  made  upon  a  true 
Method,  the  Method  was  implied  in  them.  But  this  is  no  argu 
ment  against  Bacon's  originality.  "  Principles  of  evidence,"  says 
Mr.  Mill,  "and  theories  of  method,  are  not  to  be  constructed  a 

19 


434:  BACON. 

priori.  The  laws  of  our  rational  faculty,  like  those  of  every 
other  natural  agency,  are  only  learnt  by  seeing  the  agent  at 
work.  The  earlier  achievements  of  science  were  made  without 
the  conscious  observance  of  any  scientific  method ;  and  we  should 
never  have  known  by  what  process  truth  is  to  be  ascertained  if 
we  had  not  previously  ascertained  truths."  And  if  we  consider 
for  a  moment  the  extreme  paucity  of  ascertained  truths  in  science 
at  the  time  Bacon  wrote,  it  will  enhance  our  admiration  of  his 
marvellous  sagacity,  to  see  him  do  so  much  with  such  poor  ma 
terials  ;  as  Play  fair  says,  "the  history  of  human  knowledge  points 
out  nobody  of  whom  it  can  be  said  that,  placed  in  the  situation 
of  Bacon,  he  would  have  done  what  Bacon  did, — no  man  whose 
prophetic  genius  would  enable  him  to  delineate  a  system  of 
science  which  had  not  yet  begun  to  exist." 

Bacon  is  a  great  subject,  and  one  as  attractive  as  great ;  but 
our  object  here  has  been  solely  to  exhibit  his  Method,  and  to 
indicate  its  historical  position.  We  have  done  nothing  but  point 
out  the  grounds  upon  which  his  fame,  as  the  father  of  Experi 
mental  Philosophy,  is  built.  His  Method  alone  engaged  us,  be 
cause  by  it  alone  he  claims  a  place  in  this  history.  We  have 
not  dwelt  upon  his  errors ;  neither  have  we  dwelt  upon  the  won 
drous  and  manifold  excellences  of  that  mind  which  Mr.  Macaulay 
has  so  felicitously  compared  to  the  tent  the  fairy  Peribanou  gave 
to  Prince  Ahmed  : — "  Fold  it,  and  it  seemed  the  toy  for  the  hand 
of  lady  :  spread  it,  and  the  armies  of  powerful  Sultans  might  re 
pose  beneath  its  shade." 


SECOND  EPOCH. 

FOUNDATION  OF  THE  DEDUCTIVE  METHOD. 


CHAPTER  I. 
DESCAETES. 

§  I.    LIFE  OF  DESCARTES. 

JUST  at  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century,  1596,  there  was 
born  in  Touraine,  of  Breton  parents,  a  feeble  sickly  child,  named 
Rene  Descartes  Duperron.  A  few  days  after  his  birth,  a  disease 
of  the  lungs  carried  off  his  mother.  The  sickly  child  grew  to 
be  a  sickly  boy  ;  and,  till  the  age  of  twenty,  his  life  was  always 
despaired  of. 

That  boy  was  one  the  world  could  ill  afford  to  lose.  Few  who 
saw  him  creeping  on  the  path,  which  his  companions  galloped 
along  like  young  colts,  would  have  supposed  that  the  boy,  whose 
short  dry  cough  and  paleness  seemed  to  announce  an  early  grave, 
was  shortly  to  become  one  of  the  world's  illustrious  leaders,  whose 
works  would  continue,  centuries  after  their  appearance,  to  be 
studied,  quoted,  and  criticised.  His  masters  loved  him.  He  was 
a  pupil  of  promise ;  and  in  his  eighth  year  had  gained  the  title  of 
the  Young  Philosopher,  from  his  avidity  to  learn,  and  his  con 
stant  questioning. 

His  education  was  confided  to  the  Jesuits.  This  astonishing 
body  has  many  evils  laid  to  its  door,  but  no  one  can  refuse  to  it 
the  praise  of  having  been  ever  ready  to  see  and  apply  the  value 


436  DESCARTES. 

of  education.  In  the  college  of  La  Fleche  the  young  Descartes 
was  instructed  in  mathematics,  physics,  logic,  rhetoric,  and  the 
ancient  languages.  He  was  an  apt  pupil ;  learned  quickly,  and 
was  never  tired  of  learning. 

Was  the  food  supplied  by  the  Jesuits  nutritious  ?  M.  Thomas 
remarks,  "  There  is  an  education  for  the  ordinary  man ;  for  the 
man  of  genius  there  is  no  education  but  what  he  gives  himself; 
the  second  generally  consists  in  destroying  the  first."  And  so  it 
was  with  Descartes,  who,  on  leaving  La  Fleche,  declared  that 
he  had  derived  no  other  benefit  from  his  studies  than  that  of  a 
conviction  of  his  utter  ignorance,  and  a  profound  contempt  for 
the  systems  of  philosophy  in  vogue.  The  incompetence  of  phi 
losophers  to  solve  the  problems  they  occupied  themselves  with, 
— the  anarchy  which  reigned  in  the  scientific  world,  where  no 
two  thinkers  could  agree  upon  fundamental  points, — the  extrav 
agance  of  the  conclusions  to  which  some  accepted  premises  led, 
determinedhim  to  seek  no  more  to  slake  his  thirst  at  their  fountains. 

"  And  that  is  why,  as  soon  as  my  age  permitted  me  to  quit 
my  preceptors,"  he  says,  "  I  entirely  gave  up  the  study  of  letters ; 
and  resolving  to  seek  no  other  science  than  that  which  I  could 
find  in  myself,  or  else  in  the  great  book  of  the  world,  I  employed 
the  remainder  of  my  youth  in  travel,  in  seeing  courts  and  camps, 
in  frequenting  people  of  diverse  humors  and  conditions,  in  col 
lecting  various  experiences,  and  above  all  in  endeavoring  to  draw 
some  profitable  reflection  from  what  I  saw.  For  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  should  meet  with  more  truth  in  the  reasonings  which 
each  man  makes  in  his  own  affairs,  and  which  if  wrong  would 
be  speedily  punished  by  failure,  than  in  those  reasonings  which 
the  philosopher  makes  in  his  study,  upon  speculations  which  pro 
duce  no  effect,  and  which  are  of  no  consequence  to  him,  except 
perhaps  that  he  will  be  more  vain  of  them  the  more  remote  they 
are  from  common  sense,  because  he  would  then  have  been  forced  to 
employ  more  ingenuity  and  subtlety  to  render  them  plausible."* 

*  Discours  de  la  Mtihode,  p.  6  of  the  convenient  edition  of  M.  Jnles  Si 
mon.  Paris,  1844. 


LIFE   OF   DESCARTES.  437 

For  many  years  he  led  a  roving,  unsettled  life ;  now  serving 
in  the  army,  now  making  a  tour ;  now  studying  mathematics  in 
solitude,  now  conversing  with  scientific  men.  One  constant  pur 
pose  gave  unity  to  those  various  pursuits.  He  was  elaborating 
his  answers  to  the  questions  which  perplexed  him ;  he  was  pre 
paring  his  Method. 

When  only  three-and-twenty  he  conceived  the  design  of  a 
reformation  in  philosophy.  He  was  at  that  time  residing  in  his 
winter-quarters  at  Neuburg,  on  the  Danube.  His  travels  soon 
afterwards  commenced,  and  at  the  age  of  thirty-three  he  retired 
into  Holland,  there  in  silence  and  solitude  to  arrange  his  thoughts 
into  a  consistent  whole.  He  remained  there  eight  years ;  and 
so  completely  did  he  shut  himself  from  the  world,  that  he  con 
cealed  from  his  friends  the  very  place  of  his  residence. 

When  the  results  of  his  meditative  solitude  were  given  to  the 
world,  in  the  shape  of  his  celebrated  Discourse  on  Method,  and 
his  Meditations  (to  which  he  invented  replies),  the  sensation  pro 
duced  was  immense.  It  was  evident  to  all  men  that  an  original 
and  powerful  thinker  had  arisen ;  and  although  of  course  this 
originality  could  not  but  rouse  much  opposition,  from  the  very 
fact  of  being  original,  yet  Descartes  gained  the  day.  His  name 
became  European.  His  controversies  were  European  quarrels. 
Charles  I.,  of  England,  invited  him  over,  with  the  promise  of  a 
liberal  appointment ;  and  the  invitation  would  probably  have 
been  accepted,  had  not  the  civil  war  broken  out.  He  afterwards 
received  a  flattering  invitation  from  Christina  of  Sweden,  who 
had  read  some  of  his  works  with  great  satisfaction,  and  wished 
to  learn  from  himself  the  principles  of  his  philosophy.  He  ac 
cepted  it,  and  arrived  in  Stockholm  in  1649.  His  reception  was 
most  gratifying ;  and  the  Queen  was  so  pleased  with  him  as  earn 
estly  to  beg  him  to  remain  with  her,  and  give  his  assistance 
towards  the  establishment  of  an  academy  of  sciences.  But  the 
delicate  frame  of  Descartes  was  ill  fitted  for  the  severity  of  the 
climate,  and  a  cold,  caught  in  one  of  his  morning  visits  to  Chris 
tina,  produced  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  which  put  an  end  to 


438  DESCAKTES. 

his  existence.  Christina  wept  for  him,  had  him  interred  in  the 
cemetery  for  foreigners,  and  placed  a  long  eulogium  upon  his 
tomb.  His  remains  were  subsequently  (1066)  carried  from 
Sweden  into  France,  and  buried  with  great  ceremony  in  St. 
Genevieve  du  Mont. 

Descartes  was  a  great  thinker ;  but  having  said  this,  we  have 
almost  exhausted  the  praise  we  can  bestow  upon  him  as  a  man. 
In  disposition  he  was  timid  to  servility.  When  promulgating 
his  proofs  of  the  existence  of  the  Deity,  he  was  in  evident  alarm 
lest  the  Church  should  see  something  objectionable  in  them.  He 
had  also  written  an  astronomical  treatise ;  but  hearing  of  the 
fate  of  Galileo,  he  refrained  from  publishing,  and  always  used 
some  chicane  in  speaking  of  the  world's  movement.  He  was 
not  a  brave  man ;  nor  was  he  an  affectionate  man.  But  he  was 
even-tempered,  placid,  and  studious  not  to  give  offence.  In 
these,  as  in  so  many  other  points,  he  resembles  his  illustrious 
rival,  Francis  Bacon;  but  his  name  has  descended  spotless  to 
posterity,  while  Bacon's  has  descended  darkened  with  more  spots 
than  time  can  efface.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  how  much  differ 
ence  of  position  had  to  do  with  this  difference  of  moral  purity. 
Had  Bacon  lived  in  his  study,  we  should  have  only  praises  for 
his  name. 

§  II.  THE  METHOD  OF  DESCARTES. 

There  have  been  disputes  as  to  Bacon's  claim  to  the  title  of 
Father  of  Experimental  Science ;  but  no  one  disputes  the  claim 
of  Descartes  to  the  title  of  Father  of  Modern  Philosophy.  On 
tology  and  Psychology  are  still  pursued  upon  his  Method ;  and 
his  speculations  are  still  proudly  referred  to,  by  most  Continental 
thinkers,  as  perfect,  or  almost  perfect,  examples  of  that  Method. 

In  his  Dedication  of  the  Meditations  to  the  Sorbonne,  he  says  : 
"  I  have  always  thought  that  the  two  questions,  of  the  existence 
of  Godt  and  the  nature  of  the  soul,  were  the  chief  of  those 
which  ought  to  be  demonstrated  rather  by  philosophy  than  by 
theology ;  for  although  it  is  sufficient  for  us,  the  faithful,  to  be- 


THE    METHOD    OF    DESCARTES.  439 

lieve  in  God,  and  that  the  soul  does  not  perish  with  the  body,  it 
certainly  does  not  seem  possible  ever  to  persuade  the  infidels  to 
any  religion,  nor  hardly  to  any  moral  virtue,  unless  we  first  prove 
to  them  these  two  things  by  natural  reason."  Extraordinary 
language,  which  shows  how  completely  Philosophy  had  gained 
complete  independence. 

But  if  Philosophy  is  to  be  independent, — if  reason  is  to  walk 
alone,  in  what  direction  must  she  walk  ?  Having  relinquished 
the  aid  of  the  Church,  there  were  but  two  courses  open :  the 
one,  to  tread  once  more  in  the  path  of  the  ancients,  and  to  en 
deavor  by  the  arfcient  Methods  to  attain  the  truth ;  or  else  to 
open  a  new  path,  to  invent  a  new  Method.  The  former  was 
barely  possible.  The  spirit  of  the  age  was  deeply  imbued  with 
a  feeling  of  opposition  against  the  ancient  Methods ;  and  Des 
cartes  himself  had  been  painfully  perplexed  by  the  universal  an 
archy  and  uncertainty  which  prevailed.  The  second  course  was 
therefore  chosen. 

Uncertainty  was  the  disease  of  the  epoch.  Skepticism  was 
wide-spread,  and  even  the  most  confident  dogmatism  could  offer 
no  criterium  of  certitude.  This  want  of  a  criterium  we  saw 
leading,  in  Greece,  to  Skepticism,  Epicureanism,  Stoicism,  the 
New  Academy,  and  finally  leading  the  Alexandrians  into  the ! 
province  of  faith,  to  escape  from  the  dilemma.  The  question  of 
a  criterium  had  long  been  the  vital  question  of  philosophy. 
Descartes  could  get  no  answer  to  it  from  the  Doctors  of  his  day. 
Unable  to  find  firm  ground  in  any  of  the  prevalent  systems  ;  dis 
tracted  by  doubts;  mistrusting  the  conclusions  of  his  own  un 
derstanding  ;  mistrusting  the  evidences  of  his  senses,  he  deter 
mined  to  make  a  tabula  rasa,  and  reconstruct  his  knowledge. 
He  resolved  to  examine  the  premises  of  every  conclusion,  and  to 
believe  nothing  but  upon  the  clearest  evidence  of  reason  ;  evidence 
so  convincing  that  he  could  not  by  any  effort  refuse  to  assent 
to  it. 

He  has  given  us  the  detailed  history  of  his  doubts.  He  has 
told  us  how  he  found  that  he  could  plausibly  enough  doubt  of 


44:0  DESCARTES. 

every  thing,  except  of  his  own  existence.  He  pushed  his  skepti 
cism  to  the  verge  of  self-annihilation.  There  he  stopped  :  there, 
in  Self,  in  his  Consciousness,  he  found  at  last  an  irresistible  Fact, 
an  irreversible  Certainty. 

Firm  ground  was  discovered.  lie  could  doubt  the  existence 
of  the  external  world,  and  treat  it  as  a  phantasm;  he  could 
doubt  the  existence  of  God,  and  treat  the  beliet  as  a  superstition ; 
but  of  the  existence  of  his  thinking,  doubting  mind,  no  sort  of 
doubt  was  possible.  He,  the  doubter,  existed,  if  nothing  else  ex 
isted.  The  existence  that  was  revealed  in  his  own  Consciousness 
was  the  primary  fact,  the  first  indubitable  certainty.  Hence  his 
famous  Cogito,  ergo  Sum :  I  think,  therefore  I  am. 

It  is  somewhat  curious,  and,  as  an  illustration  of  the  frivolous 
verbal  disputes  of  philosophers,  not  a  little  instructive,  that  this 
celebrated  Cogito,  ergo  Sum  should  have  been  frequently  attacked 
for  its  logical  imperfection.  It  has  been  objected,  from  Gassendi 
downwards,  that  to  say,  **  I  think,  therefore  I  am,"  is  a  begging 
of  the  question,  since  existence  has  to  be  proved  identical  with 
thought.  Certainly,  if  Descartes  had  intended  to  prove  his  owrn 
existence  by  reasoning,  he  would  have  been  guilty  of  the  petitio 
principii  Gassendi  attributes  to  him ;  viz.  that  the  major  prem 
ise,  "  that  which  thinks  exists,"  is  assumed,  not  proved.  But  he 
did  not  intend  this.  What  was  his  object?  He  has  told  us  that 
it  was  to  find  a  starting-point  from  which  to  reason, — to  find  an 
irreversible  certainty.  And  where  did  he  find  this  ?  In  his  own 
Consciousness.  Doubt  as  I  may,  I  cannot  doubt  of  my  own  ex 
istence,  because  my  very  doubt  reveals  to  me  a  something  which 
doubts.  You  may  call  this  an  assumption,  if  you  will :  I  point 
out  the  fact  as  one  above  and  beyond  all  logic  ;  which  logic  can 
neither  prove  nor  disprove ;  but  which  must  always  remain  an 
irreversible  certainty,  and  as  such  a  fitting  basis  of  philosophy.* 

I  exist.  No  doubt  can  darken  such  a  truth ;  no  sophism  can 
confute  this  clear  principle.  This  is  a  certainty,  if  there  be  none 

*  See  his  replies  to  the  third  and  fifth  series  of  Objections,  affixed  to  his 
Meditations. 


THE    METHOD    OF    DESCARTES.  441 

other.  This  is  the  basis  of  all  science.  It  is  in  vain  to  ask  for  a 
proof  of  that  which  is  self-evident  and  irresistible.  I  exist.  The 
consciousness  of  my  existence  is  to  me  the  assurance  of  my  ex 
istence. 

Had  Descartes  done  no  more  than  point  out  this  fact,  he  would 
have  no  claim  to  notice  here ;  and  we  are  surprised  to  find  many 
writers  looking  upon  this  Cogito,  ergo  Sum,  as  constituting  the 
great  idea  in  his  system.  Surely  it  is  only  a  statement  of  uni 
versal  experience — an  epigrammatic  form  given  to  the  common- 
sense  view  of  the  matter.  Any  clown  would  have  told  him  that 
the  assurance  of  his  existence  was  his  consciousness  of  it ;  but 
the  clown  would  not  have  stated  it  so  well.  He  would  have 
said :  I  know  I  exist,  because  I  feel  that  I  exist. 

Descartes  therefore  made  no  discovery  in  pointing  out  this  fact 
as  an  irresistible  certainty.  The  part  it  plays  in  his  system  is 
only  that  of  a  starting-point.  It  makes  Consciousness  the  basis 
of  all  truth ;  there  is  none  other  possible.  Interrogate  Con 
sciousness,  and  its  clear  replies  will  be  Science.  Here  we  have 
a  new  basis  and  a  new  philosophy  introduced.  It  was  indeed 
but  another  shape  of  the  old  formula,  "  Know  thyself,"  so  differ 
ently  interpreted  by  Thales,  Socrates,  and  the  Alexandrians  : 
but  it  gave  that  formula  a  precise  signification,  a  thing  it  had 
before  always  wanted.  Of  little  use  could  it  be  to  tell  man  to 
know  himself.  How  is  he  to  know  himself?  By  looking  in 
wards?  We  all  do  that.  By  examining  the  nature  of  his 
thoughts  ?  That  had  been  done  without  success.  By  examining 
the  process  of  his  thoughts  ?  That  too  had  been  accomplished, 
and  the  logic  of  Aristotle  was  the  result. 

The  formula  needed  a  precise  interpretation  ;  and  that  inter 
pretation  Descartes  gave.  Consciousness,  said  he,  is  the  basis  of 
all  knowledge  ;  it  is  the  only  ground  of  absolute  certainty. 
Whatever  it  distinctly  proclaims  must  be  true.  The  process, 
then,  is  simple :  examine  your  Consciousness,  and  its  clear  re 
plies.  Hence  the  vital  portion  of  his  system  lies  in  this  axiom, 
all  clear  ideas  are  true  :  whatever  is  clearly  and  distinctly  con- 

190 


442  DESCARTES. 

ceived  is  true.     This  axiom  he  calls  the  foundation  of  all  science, 
the  rule  and  measure  of  truth.* 

The  next  step  to  be  taken  was  to  determine  the  rules  for  the 
proper  detection  of  these  ideas ;  and  these  rules  he  has  laid 
down  as  follows  : 

I.  Never  to  accept  any  thing  as  true,  but  what  is  evidently  so  ; 
to  admit  nothing  but  what  so  clearly  and  distinctly  presents 
itself  as  true  that  there  can  be  no  reason  to  doubt  it. 

II.  To  divide  every  question  into  as  many  separate  questions 
as  possible  ;    that  each  part  being  more  easily  conceived,  the 
whole  may  be  more  intelligible. — (Analysis.) 

III.  To  conduct  the  examination  with  order,  beginning  by  that 
of  objects  the  most  simple,  and  therefore  the  easiest  to  be  known, 
and  ascending  little  by  little  up  to  knowledge  of  the  most  com 
plex. — (Synthesis.) 

IV.  To  make  such  exact  calculations,  and  such  circumspec 
tions,  as  to  be  confident  that  nothing  essential  has  been  omitted. 

Consciousness  being  the  ground  of  all  certainty,  every  thing 
of  which  you  are  clearly  and  distinctly  conscious  must  be  true ; 
every  thing  which  you  clearly  and  distinctly  conceive  exists,  if 
the  idea  of  it  involves  existence. 

In  the  four  rules,  and  in  this  view  of  Consciousness,  we  have 
only  half  of  Descartes'  system  :  the  psychological  half.  It  was 
owing,  we  believe,  to  the  exclusive  consideration  of  this  half  that 
Dugald  Stewart  was  led  (in  controverting  Condorcet's  assertion 
that  Descartes  had  done  more  than  either  Galileo  or  Bacon  to 
wards  experimental  philosophy)  to  say  that  Condorcet  would 
have  been  nearer  the  truth  if  he  had  pointed  him  out  as  the 
Father  of  the  Experimental  Philosophy  of  the  Mind.  Perhaps 
the  title  is  just;  but  Condorcet's  praise,  though  exaggerated,  was 
not  without  good  foundation. 

*  "  Hac  igitur  detectii  veritate  simul  etiam  invenit  omnium  scientiarum 
fundfimentum  :  ac  etiam  omnium  alinrum  vcritatum  mensnram  ac  regulam  ; 
scilicet,  quit-quid  tarn  clare  ac  distincte  percipitur  quaiu  istud  vertim  est." — 
Princip.  Phil.  p.  4. 


THE    METHOD    OF    DESCARTES.  4:4:3 

There  is,  in  truth,  another  half  of  Descartes'  system ;  equally 
important,  or  nearly  so  :  we  mean  the  Mathematical  or  Deduc 
tive  Method.  His  eminence  as  a  mathematician  is  universally 
recognized.  He  was  the  first  to  make  the  grand  discovery  of  the 
application  of  Algebra  to  Geometry ;  and  he  made  this  at  the 
age  of  twenty-three.  The  discovery  that  geometrical  curves 
might  be  expressed  by  algebraical  numbers,  though  highly  im 
portant  in  the  history  of  mathematics,  only  interests  us  here  by 
leading  us  to  trace  his  philosophical  development.  We  see  him 
deeply  engrossed  in  mathematics ;  we  see  him  awakening  to  the 
conviction  that  mathematics  were  capable  of  a  still  further  simpli 
fication,  and  of  a  far  more  extended  application.  Struck  as  he 
was  with  a  certitude  of  mathematical  reasoning,  he  began  apply 
ing  the  principles  of  mathematical  reasoning  to  the  subject  of 
metaphysics.  His  great  object  was,  amidst  the  skepticism  and 
anarchy  of  his  contemporaries,  to  found  a  system  which  should 
be  solid  and  convincing.  He  first  wished  to  find  a  basis  of  cer 
titude — a  starting-point :  this  he  found  in  Consciousness.  He 
next  wished  to  find  a  method  of  certitude  :  this  he  found  in 
mathematics. 

"Those  long  chains  of  reasoning,"  he  tells  us,  "  all  simple  and 
easy,  which  geometers  use  to  arrive  at  their  most  difficult  demon 
strations,  suggested  to  me  that  all  things  which  came  within 
human  knowledge  must  follow  each  other  in  a  similar  chain ; 
and  that  provided  we  abstain  from  admitting  any  thing  as  true 
which  is  not  so,  and  that  we  always  preserve  in  them  the  order 
necessary  to  deduce  one  from  the  other,  there  can  be  none  so 
remote  to  which  we  cannot  finally  attain,  nor  so  obscure  but  that 
we  may  discover  them."*  From  these  glimpses  of  the  twofold 
nature  of  Descartes'  Method,  it  will  be  easy  to  see  into  his  whole 
system.  The  psychological  and  mathematical  Methods  are  in 
separable,  Consciousness  being  the  only  ground  of  certitude, 
mathematics  the  only  method  of  certitude. 

*  Discours  dc,  la  Methods,  p.  12. 


444  DESCARTES. 

"VVe  may  say  therefore  that  the  Deductive  Method  was  now 
completely  constituted.  The  whole  operation  of  philosophy 
henceforth  consisted  in  deducing  consequences.  The  premises 
had  been  found  ;  the  conclusions  alone  were  wanting.  This  was 
held  to  be  true  of  physics  no  less  than  of  psychology.  Thus,  in 
his  Principia,  he  announces  his  intention  of  giving  a  short  ac 
count  of  the  principal  phenomena  of  the  world,  not  that  he  may 
use  them  as  reasons  to  prove  any  thing ;  for  he  adds,  "we  desire 
to  deduce  effects  from  causes,  not  causes  from  effects,  but  only  in 
order  that  out  of  the  innumerable  effects  which  we  learn  to  be 
capable  of  resulting  from  the  same  causes,  we  may  determine  our 
minds  to  consider  some  rather  than  others."* 

Such  being  the  Method  of  Descartes,  our  readers  will  hear 
with  surprise  that  some  French  writers  have  declared  it  to  be 
the  same  Method  as  that  laid  down  by  Bacon ;  and  this  surprise 
will  be  heightened  on  learning  that  M.  Victor  Cousin  is  one  of 
those  writers.  He  says,  "  Let  us  now  see  what  our  Descartes  has 
done.  He  has  established  in  France  the  same  Method  that.  Eng 
land  has  endeavored  to  attribute  exclusively  to  Bacon  ;•  and  he 
has  established  it  with  less  grandeur  of  imagination  in  style,  but 
with  the  superior  precision  which  must  always  characterize  one 
who,  not  content  with  laying  down  rules,  puts  them  himself  in 
practice,  and  gives  the  example  with  the  precept."|  M.  Cousin 
then  quotes  the  four  rules  we  quoted  from  Descartes ;  and  seeing 
in  them  Analysis  and  Synthesis,  which  he  believes  constitutes 
the  sole  Method  of  Bacon,  declares  that  the  two  Methods  are 
one.  Such  a  statement  requires  no  refutation ;  nor  indeed  would 


*  Prlndpia  Philos.  pars  5ii.  p.  51.  The  phrase,  "cupimus  enim  rationes 
effectuum  a  causis,  uon  autem  e  contrario  causarum  ab  effectibus  deducere," 
may  be  said  to  express  the  nature  of  his  method,  as  opposed  to  the  method 
of  Bacon.  When  M.  Jules  Simon  said,  "  The  commencement  of  philosophy 
for  Descartes  is  Doubt ;  that  alone  is  all  his  entire  method — cela  seul  est  touie 
ta  Mi-thode"  (Introduction  prefixed  to  his  edition  of  Descartes,  p.  3),  he  mis 
takes,  as  it  seems  to  us,  the  whole  purpose  of  Descartes'  artificial  skepticism : 
besides,  how  can  a  Doubt  be  a  Method  ? 

t  Hist,  dela  Philos.  109011  iii.  p.  91,  ed.  Bruxelles,  1840. 


THE    METHOD    OF    DESCARTES.  44:5 

it  have  been  noticed,  did  it  not  afford  an  illustration  of  the  loose 
way  in  which  the  terra  Method  is  employed  by  many  writers. 

Bacon  was  the  reverse  side  of  the  medal  of  Descartes.  Bacon's 
deficiencies  lay  in  that  department  where  Descartes  was  greatest 
— in  mathematics.  Hence  Bacon's  over-valuation  of  Induction, 
and  neglect  of  Deduction ;  hence  also  Descartes'  over-valuation 
of  Deduction,  and  neglect  of  Induction.  Both  cultivated  Phys 
ics  ;  but  Bacon  made  it  the  basis  of  all  the  sciences ;  Descartes 
made  it  a  mere  illustration  of  his  principles.  The  one  argued 
from  effects  to  causes — from  the  known  to  the  unknown ;  the 
other  deduced  effects  from  causes — explaining  phenomena  by 
noumena — explaining  that  which  presented  itself  to  the  senses 
by  that  which  was  intuitively  known.  Both  separated  religion 
from  philosophy ;  but  Bacon  declared  the  problems  of  religion 
and  ontology  insoluble  by  reason,  and  therefore  beyond  the  prov 
ince  of  science  ;  Descartes  declared  them  soluble  only  by  reason, 
and  that  it  was  the  first  object  of  philosophy  to  solve  them. 

Besides  these  and  other  points  of  difference,  there  were  also 
several  points  of  resemblance,  owing  to  the  resemblance  of  their 
positions  as  reformers.  They  both  overvalued  their  Methods, 
which  they  declare  will  enable  all  men  to  philosophize  with  equal 
justness.  "  It  is  not  so  essential  to  have  a  fine  understanding," 
says  Descartes,  "  as  to  apply  it  rightly.  Those  who  walk  slowly 
make  greater  progress,  if  they  always  follow  the  right  road,  than 
those  who  run  swiftly,  but  run  on  a  wrong  one."  This  is  pre 
cisely  the  thought  of  Bacon :  "  A  cripple  in  the  right  path  will 
beat  a  racer  in  the  wrong  one."  But  both  these  thinkers  assume 
that  the  racer  will  choose  the  wrong  path :  whereas,  if  their 
Methods  are  adopted,  the  finer  understanding  must  always  sur 
pass  the  duller  in  the  discovery  of  truth. 

Before  quitting  this  subject,  we  must  remark  on  the  essentially 
metaphysical  nature  and  tendency  of  the  Method  of  Descartes, 
even  when  employed  on  Physics ;  and  for  this  purpose  we  can 
not  do  better  than  borrow  the  admirable  language  of  Fontenello 
in  his  parallel  between  Descartes  and  Newton.  "  Tons  deux  geo- 


446  DESCARTES. 

metres  excellents  ont  vu  la  necessite  de  transporter  la  geometric 
dans  la  physique  .  .  .  Mais  Pun,  prenant  un  vol  hardi,  a  voulu 
se  placer  a  la  source  de  tout,  se  rendre  maitre  des  premiers  prin- 
cipes  par  quelques  idees  claires  et  fondamentales,  pour  n'avoir 
plus  qu'a  descendre  aux  phenomenes  de  la  nature  comme  a  des 
consequences  necessaires;  Pautre,  plus  timide  ou  plus  modeste, 
a  commence  sa  marche  par  s'appuyer  sur  les  phenomenes  pour 
remonter  aux  principes  inconnus,  resolu  de  les  admettre,  quels 
que  les  put  dormer  Penchainement  des  consequences.  L'uu  part 
de  ce  qu'il  entend  nettement  pour  trouver  la  cause  de  ce  qu'il 
voit;  Pautre  part  de  ce  qu'il  voit  pour  en  trouver  la  cause,  soit 
claire,  soit  obscure." 

§  III.    APPLICATION  OF  THE  METHOD. 

To  prove  the  existence  of  God  was  the  first  application  of  Des 
cartes'  Method ;  not,  as  some  say,  to  prove  his  own  existence  ;  for 
that  neither  admitted  of  logical  proof  nor  of  disproof:  it  was  a  pri 
mary  fact.  Interrogating  his  Consciousness,  he  found  that  he  had 
the  idea  of  God, — understanding,  by  God,  a  substance  infinite,  eter 
nal,  immutable,  independent,  omniscient,  omnipotent.  This,  to  him, 
was  as  certain  a  truth  as  the  truth  of  his  own  existence.  I  exist : 
not  only  do  I  exist,  but  exist  as  a  miserably  imperfect,  finite 
being,  subject  to  change — greatly  ignorant,  and  incapable  of  cre 
ating  any  thing.  In  this,  my  Consciousness,  I  find  by  my  fini- 
tude  that  I  am  not  the  All ;  by  my  imperfection,  that  I  am  not 
perfect.  Yet  an  infinite  and  perfect  being  must  exist,  because 
infinity  and  perfection  are  implied,  as  correlatives,  in  my  ideas  of 
imperfection  and  finitude.  God  therefore  exists  :  his  existence  is 
clearly  proclaimed  in  my  Consciousness,  aad  can  no  more  be  a 
matter  of  doubt,  when  fairly  considered,  than  my  own  existence. 
The  conception  of  an  infinite  being  proves  his  real  existence ; 
for  if  there  is  not  really  such  a  being,  /  must  have  made  the 
conception ;  but  if  I  could  make  it,  I  can  also  unmake  it,  which 
evidently  is  not  true ;  therefore  there  must  be,  externally  to  my 
self,  an  archetype  from  which  the  conception  was  derived. 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  METHOD.  447 

"The  ambiguity  in  this  case,"  it  has  been  remarked,*  "is  the 
pronoun  7,  by  which  in  one  place  is  to  be  understood  my  will, 
in  another  the  laws  of  my  nature.  If  the  conception,  existing  as 
it  does  in  my  mind,  had  no  original  without,  the  conclusion  would 
unquestionably  follow  that  /had  made  it — that  is,  the  laws  of 
my  nature  must  have  spontaneously  evolved  it ;  but  that  my  will 
made  it,  would  not  follow.  Now,  when  Descartes  afterwards  adds 
that  I  cannot  unmake  the  conception,  he  means  that  I  cannot 
get  rid  of  it  by  an  act  of  my  will,  which  is  true,  but  is  not  the 
proposition  required.  That  what  some  'of  the  laws  of  my  nature 
have  produced,  other  laws,  or  the  same  laws  in  other  circumstan 
ces,  might  not  subsequently  efface,  he  would  have  found  it  dif 
ficult  to  establish." 

His  second  demonstration  is  the  weakest  of  the  three.  Indeed, 
it  is  the  only  one  not  irrefragable,  upon  his  principles.  The 
third  demonstration  is  peculiarly  Cartesian,  and  may  be  thrown 
into  this  syllogism : 

All  that  we  clearly  and  distinctly  conceive  as  contained  in 

any  thing,  is  true  of  that  thing. 

Now  we  conceive,  clearly  and  distinctly,  that  the  existence 
of  God  is  contained  in  the  idea  we  have  of  him. 

Ergo, 
God  exists. 

Having  demonstrated  the  existence  of  God,  he  had  to  prove 
the  distinction  between  body  and  soul.  This,  to  him,  was  easy. 
The  fundamental  attribute  of  Substance  must  be  extension,  be 
cause  we  can  abstract  from  Substance  all  the  qualities  except  ex 
tension.  The  fundamental  attribute  of  Mind  is  thought,  because 
by  this  attribute  Mind  is  revealed  to  itself.  Now,  according  to 
one  of  his  logical  axioms,  two  substances  are  really  distinct  when 
their  ideas  are  complete,  and  in  no  way  imply  each  other.  The 
ideas,  therefore,  of  extension  and  thought  being  distinct,  it  fol 
lows  that  Substance  and  Mind  are  distinct  in  essence. 

We  need  not  pursue  our  analysis  of  his  metaphysical  notions 
*  Mill's  System  of  Logic,  ii.  447. 


44:8  DESCARTES. 

further.  We  only  stop  to  remark  on  the  nature  of  his  demon 
strations  of  God  and  the  soul.  It  is,  and  was,  usual  to  prove  the 
existence  of  God  from  what  is  called  the  "  evidence  of  design." 
Descartes  neither  started  from  design,  nor  from  motion,  which 
must  have  a  mover :  he  started  from  the  a  priori  ideas  of  per 
fection  and  infinity  ;  his  proof  was  in  the  clearness  of  his  idea 
of  God.  His  Method  was  that  of  definition  and  deduction.  To 
define  the  idea  of  God,  and  hence  to  construct  the  world — not 
to  contemplate  the  world,  and  thence  infer  the  existence  of  God 
— was  the  route  he  pursued.  Is  it  not  eminently  the  procedure 
of  a  mathematician?  and  of  a  mathematician  who  has  taken 
Consciousness  as  his  starting-point? 

Descartes'  speculations  are  beautiful  exemplifications  of  his 
Method ;  and  he  follows  that  Method,  even  when  it  leads  him  to 
the  wildest  conclusions.  His  physical  speculations  are  some 
times  admirable  (he  made  important  discoveries  in  optics),  but 
mostly  fanciful.  The  famous  theory  of  vortices  deserves  a  men 
tion  here,  as  an  example  of  his  Method. 

He  begins  by  banishing  the  notion  of  a  vacuum,  not,  as  his 
contemporaries  said,  because  Nature  has  a  horror  of  vacuum,  but 
because  the  essence  of  Substance  being  extension,  wherever  there 
is  extension  there  is  Substance ;  consequently  empty  space  is  a 
chimera.  The  substance  which  fills  all  space  must  be  assumed 
as  divided  into  equal  angular  parts.  Why  must  this  be  assumed  ? 
Because  it  is  the  most  simple,  therefore  the  most  natural  suppo 
sition.  This  substance  being  set  in  motion,  the  parts  are  ground 
into  a  spherical  form;  and  the  corners  thus  rubbed  off,  like 
filings  or  sawdust,  form  a  second  or  more  subtle  kind  of  substance. 
There  is,  besides,  a  kind  of  substance,  coarser  and  less  fitted  for 
motion.  The  first  kind  makes  luminous  bodies,  such  as  the  sun 
and  fixed  stars ;  the  second  makes  the  transparent  substance  of 
the  skies ;  the  third  kind  is  the  material  of  opake  bodies,  such 
as  earth,  planets,  etc.  We  may  also  assume  that  the  motions  of 
these  parts  take  the  form  of  revolving  circular  currents,  or  vor 
tices.  By  this  means  the  matter  will  be  collected  to  the  centre 


APPLICATION   OF   THE   METHOD.  449 

of  each  vortex,  while  the  second  or  subtle  matter  surrounds  it, 
and  by  its  centrifugal  effort  constitutes  light.  The  planets  are 
carried  round  the  sun  by  the  motion  of  this  vortex,  each  planet 
being  at  such  a  distance  from  the  sun  as  to  be  in  a  part  of  the 
vortex  suitable  to  its  solidity  and  mobility.  The  motions  are 
prevented  from  being  exactly  circular  and  regular  by  various 
causes.  For  instance,  a  vortex  may  be  pressed  into  an  oval 
shape  by  contiguous  vortices.* 

Descartes,  in  his  physics,  adopted  a  method  which  permitted 
him  to  set  aside  the  qualities  and  the  substantial  forms  (which 
others  were  seeking),  and  to  consider  only  the  relations  of  num 
ber,  figure,  and  motion.  In  a  word,  he  saw  in  physics  only 
mathematical  problems.  This  was  premature.  Science,  in  its 
infancy,  cannot  be  carried  on  by  the  deductive  Method  alone : 
such  a  process  is  reserved  for  its  maturity. 

But  this  deductive  Method,  though  premature,  was  puissant. 
Science  is  forced  to  employ  it,  and  Bacon's  greatest  error  was  in 
not  sufficiently  acknowledging  it.  Hence  we  may  partly  account 
for  the  curious  fact  that  Bacon,  with  his  cautious  Method,  made 
no  discoveries,  while  Descartes,  with  his  premature  Method,  made 
important  discoveries.  Of  course  the  greater  physical  knowledge 
of  Descartes,  and  the  greater  attention  bestowed  by  him  upon 
physics,  had  something  to  do  with  this ;  but  his  Method  also  as 
sisted  him,  precisely  because  his  discoveries  were  of  a  kind  to 
which  the  mathematical  method  was  strictly  applicable. 

That  Descartes  had  read  Bacon  there  is  no  doubt.  He  has 
himself  praised  Bacon's  works  as  leaving  nothing  to  be  desired 
on  the  subject  of  experience  •  but  he  perceived  Bacon's  deficiency, 
and  declared  that  we  are  "  liable  to  collect  many  superfluous  ex 
periences  of  particulars,  and  not  only  superfluous,  but  false,"  if 
we  have  not  ascertained  the  truth  before  we  make  these  expe- 


*  We  have  followed  Dr.  Whewell's  exposition  of  this  theory,  as  given  by 
him,  Hist,  of  Ind.  Sciences,  ii.  p.  134.  The  curious  reader  will  do  well, 
however,  to  turn  to  Descartes'  own  exposition  in  the  Principia  Philosophies, 
where  it  is  illustrated  by  diagrams. 


450  DESCARTES. 

riences.  In  other  words,  experiment  should  be  the  verification 
of  an  a  priori  conception ;  whereas  Bacon  teaches  us  to  form 
our  conceptions  from  experiment. 

We  have  said  enough  to  make  the  Method  of  Descartes  appre 
ciable.  His  position  is  that  of  founder  of  the  Deductive  Method 
on  the  basis  of  Consciousness.  His  scholars  may  be  divided  into 
the  mathematical  cultivators  of  Physics,  and  the  deductive  culti 
vators  of  Philosophy.  By  the  first  he  was  speedily  surpassed, 
and  his  influence  on  them  can  only  be  regarded  as  an  impulsion. 
By  the  second  he  was  continued :  his  principles  were  unhesita 
tingly  accepted,  and  only  developed  in  a  somewhat  different 
manner. 

His  philosophical  Method  subsists  in  the  present  day.  It  is 
the  Method  implicitly  or  explicitly  adopted  by  most  metaphy 
sicians  in  their  speculations  upon  ontological  subjects.  Is  it  a 
good  Method  ?  The  question  is  of  the  highest  importance  :  we 
will  endeavor  to  answer  it. 

§  IV.  Is  THE  METHOD  TRUE  ? 

In  the  Dedicatory  Epistle  prefixed  to  his  Meditations,  Des 
cartes  declares  that  his  demonstrations  of  the  existence  of  God, 
etc.,  "  equal,  or  even  surpass,  in  certitude  the  demonstrations  of 
geometry."  Upon  what  does  he  found  this  belief?  He  founds 
it  upon  the  very  nature  of  certitude.  Consciousness  is  the  basis 
of  all  certitude.  Whatever  I  am  distinctly  conscious  of,  I  must 
be  certain  of;  all  the  ideas  which  I  find  in  my  Consciousness,  as 
distinctly  conceived,  must  be  true.  The  belief  I  have  in  my 
existence  is  derived  from  the  fact  of  my  Consciousness :  I  think, 
therefore  I  exist.  Now  as  soon  as  I  conceive  a  truth  with  dis 
tinctness,  I  am  irresistibly  led  to  believe  in  it ;  and  if  that  belief 
is  so  firm  that  I  can  never  have  any  reason  to  doubt  that  which 
I  believe,  I  have  all  the  certitude  that  can  be  desired. 

Further  :  we  have  no  knowledge  whatever  of  any  thing  external 
to  us  except  through  the  medium  of  ideas.  The  consequence  is, 


IS   THE   METHOD   TRUE  ?  451 

says  Descartes,  that  whatever  we  find  in  the  ideas  must  necessarily 
be  in  the  external  things. 

It  is  only  in  our  minds  that  we  can  seek  whether  things  exist, 
or  not.  There  cannot  be  more  reality  in  an  effect  than  in  a 
cause.  The  external  thing,  being  the  cause  of  the  idea,  must 
therefore  possess  as  much  reality  as  the  idea,  and  vice  versa.  So 
that  whatever  we  conceive  as  existent,  exists. 

This  is  the  basis  on  which  Descartes'  system  is  erected ;  if  this 
basis  be  rotten,  the  superstructure  must  fall.  If  the  root  is 
vitiated,  the  tree  will  bear  no  fruit.  No  thinker,  except  Spinoza, 
has  so  clearly,  so  frankly  stated  his  criterium.  Let  us  then  ac 
cept  the  challenge  which  it  offers,  since  an  opportunity  is  now 
afforded  of  bringing  together  in  a  narrow  field  the  defenders  and 
antagonists  of  philosophy. 

If  Descartes  is  wrong — if  Consciousness  is  not  the  ultimate 
ground  of  Certitude,  embracing  both  objective  and  subjective — 
if  ideas  are  not  the  internal  copies  of  external  things — then  must 
Philosophy  be  content  to  relinquish  all  claim  to  certitude,  and 
find  refuge  again  in  Faith. 

And  Descartes  is  wrong.  The  very  Consciousness  to  which 
he  appeals,  convicts  him.  There  is  this  fallacy  in  his  system : 
Consciousness  is  the  ultimate  ground  of  certitude,  for  me  ;  if  I 
am  conscious  that  I  exist,  I  cannot  doubt  that  I  exist ;  if  I  am 
conscious  of  pain,  I  must  be  in  pain.  This  is  self-evident.  But 
what  ground  of  certitude  can  my  Consciousness  afford  respecting 
things  which  are  not  me  ?  How  does  the  principle  of  certitude 
apply  ?  How  far  does  it  extend  ?  It  can  only  extend  to  things 
which  relate  to  me.  I  am  conscious  of  all  that  passes  within 
myself ;  but  I  am  not  conscious  of  what  passes  in  not-self :  all 
that  I  can  possibly  know  of  the  not-self  is  in  its  effects  upon  me. 

Consciousness  is  therefore  "  cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confined"  to  me, 
and  to  what  passes  within  me  j  so  far  does  the  principle  of  cer 
titude  extend,  and  no  farther.  Any  other  ideas  we  may  have, 
any  knowledge  we  may  have  respecting  not-self,  can  only  be 
founded  -on  inferences.  Thus,  I  burn  myself  in  the  fire :  I 


452  DESCARTES. 

am  conscious  of  the  sensation ;  I  have  certain  and  immediate 
knowledge  of  that.  But  I  can  only  be  certain  that  a  change  has 
taken  place  in  my  consciousness ;  when  from  that  change  I  infer 
the  existence  of  an  external  object  (the  fire),  my  inference  may 
be  correct,  but  I  have  obviously  shifted  my  ground ;  Conscious 
ness — my  principle  of  certitude — forsakes  me  here :  I  go  out  of 
myself  to  infer  the  existence  of  something  which  is  not-self.  My 
knowledge  of  the  sensation  was  immediate,  indubitable.  My 
knowledge  of  the  object  is  mediate,  uncertain. 

Directly  therefore  we  leave  the  ground  of  Consciousness  for 
that  of  inference,  avenues  of  doubt  are  opened.  Other  inferences 
can  be  brought  to  bear  upon  any  one  inference  to  illustrate  or  to 
refute  it.  The  mathematical  certainty  which  Descartes  attributed 
to  these  inferences  becomes  a  great  uncertainty.  He  says  we 
only  know  things  through  the  medium  of  ideas.  We  will  accept 
the  proposition  as  unquestionable.  But  then  he  also  says  that, 
in  consequence  of  this,  whatever  we  find  in  the,  ideas  must  neces 
sarily  be  true  of  the  things.  The  reason  is,  that  as  ideas  are 
caused  in  us  by  objects,  and  as  every  effect  must  have  as  much 
reality  as  the  cause — the  effect  being  equal  to  the  cause — so  must 
ideas  have  the  same  reality  as  things.  But  this  is  a  double  fal 
lacy.  In  the  first  place,  an  effect  is  not  equal  to  its  cause ;  it  is 
a  mere  consequent  of  an  antecedent,  having  no  such  relation  as 
equality  whatever.  In  the  second  place,  the  use  of  the  term 
"  reality"  is  ambiguous.  Unquestionably  an  effect  really  exists ; 
but  reality  of  existence  does  not  imply  similarity  of  modes  of 
existence.  The  burn  occasioned  by  a  fire  is  as  real  as  the  fire ; 
but  it  in  no  way  resembles  the  fire. 

So  when  Descartes  says  that  what  is  true  of  ideas  must  be  true 
of  things,  he  assumes  that  the  mind  is  a  passive  recipient — a  mir 
ror,  in  which  things  reflect  themselves.  This  is  altogether  fal 
lacious  ;  the  mind  is  an  active  co-operator  in  all  sensation — sen 
sation  is  a  consciousness  of  changes  operated  in  ourselves,  not  a 
consciousness  of  the  objects  causing  those  changes.  In  truth,  so 
far  from  our  being  able  to  apprehend  the  nature  of  things  ex- 


IS   THE   METHOD   TRUE  ?  4:53 

ternal  to  us,  there  is  an  impenetrable  screen  forever  placed  before 
our  eyes,  and  that  impenetrable  screen  is  the  very  Consciousness 
upon  which  Descartes  relies.  When  placed  in  contact  with  ex 
ternal  objects,  they  operate  upon  us ;  their  operations  we  know, 
themselves  we  cannot  know ;  precisely  because  our  knowledge  of 
them  is  mediate,  and  the  medium  is  our  Consciousness.  Into 
whatever  regions  we  wander,  we  carry  with  us  this  Conscious 
ness,  by  means  of  which,  indeed,  we  know,  but  all  we  know,  is 
— ourselves. 

Knowledge  is  composed  of  Ideas.  Ideas  are  the  joint  product 
of  mind  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  external  causes  on  the  other ; 
or  rather  we  may  say  that  Ideas  are  the  products  of  mind  excited 
by  external  causes.  Upon  what  principles  of  inference  (since  we 
are  here  on  the  ground  of  inference)  can  you  infer  that  the  ideas 
excited  are  copies  of  the  exciting  causes — that  the  ideas  excited 
apprehend  the  whole  nature  of  the  causes  ?  The  cause  of  the 
fallacy  is  in  that  very  strong  disposition  to  give  objectivity  to  a 
law  of  the  mind;  in  consequence  of  which  we  often  hear  people 
declare  that  something  they  are  asserting  is  "  involved  in  the 
idea." 

There  is  one  mode  of  escape  left  for  those  who  believe  in  the 
validity  of  ontological  speculations :  namely,  to  assert  the  exist 
ence  of  Innate  Ideas,  or — as  the  theory  is  generally  stated  in 
modern  times — of  Necessary  Truths  independent  of  all  experi 
ence.  If  the  idea  of  God,  for  example,  be  innate  in  us,  it  is  no 
longer  a  matter  of  inference,  but  of  Consciousness ;  and  on  such 
an  hypothesis  Descartes  is  correct  in  believing  that  the  certainty 
of  this  idea  equals  the  certainty  of  geometry. 

But  some  maintain  that  he  did  not  assert  the  existence  of  In 
nate  Ideas,  though,  from  its  having  been  a  doctrine  maintained 
by  his  followers,  it  is  usually  attributed  to  him.  Dugald  Stewart 
quotes  the  following  passage  from  Descartes  in  reply  to  his  ad 
versaries,  who  accused  him  of  holding  the  tenet  of  Innate  Ideas : 
— "  When  I  said  that  the  idea  of  God  is  innate  in  us,  I  never 
meant  more  than  this,  that  Nature  has  endowed  us  with  a  facul- 


454  DESCARTES. 

ty  by  ivhich  we  may  know  God  y  but  I  have  never  either  said  or 
thought  that  such  ideas  had  an  actual  existence,  or  even  that 
they  were  a  species  distinct  from  the  faculty  of  thinking.  .  .  . 
Although  the  idea  of  God  is  so  imprinted  on  our  minds  that 
every  person  has  within  himself  the  faculty  of  knowing  Him,  it 
does  not  follow  that  there  may  not  have  been  various  individuals 
who  have  passed  through  life  without  making  this  idea  a  distinct 
object  of  apprehension  ;  and,  in  truth,  they  who  think  they  have 
an  idea  of  a  plurality  of  Gods  have  no  idea  of  God  whatever." 

From  this  it  would  appear  that  he  did  not  hold  the  doctrine 
of  Innate  Ideas.  But  we  must  venture  to  dissent  from  the  con 
clusion  drawn  by  Dugald  Stewart  on  the  strength  of  such  a  pas 
sage  ;  against  that  passage  we  will  bring  another  equally  explicit 
(we  could  bring  fifty,  if  necessary),  which  asserts  the  existence 
of  Innate  Ideas.  "By  the  word  idea"  he  says,  "I  understand  all 
that  can  be  in  our  thoughts ;  and  I  distinguish  three  sorts  of 
ideas : — adventitious,  like  the  common  idea  of  the  sun  ;  framed 
by  the  mind,  such  as  that  which  astronomical  reasoning  gives  of 
the  sun ;  and  innate,  as  the  idea  of  God,  mind,  body,  a  triangle, 
and  generally  all  those  which  represent  true,  immutable,  and  eternal 
essences"*  This  last  explanation  is  distinct;  and  it  is  all  that 
the  serious  antagonists  of  Innate  Ideas  have  ever  combated.  If 
Descartes,  when  pressed  by  objections,  gave  different  explana 
tions,  we  may  attribute  that  to  the  want  of  a  steady  conception 
of  the  vital  importance  of  Innate  Ideas  in  his  system.  The  fact 
remains  that  Innate  Ideas  form  the  necessary  groundwork  of  the 
Cartesian  doctrine. 

Although  the  theory  of  Innate  Ideas  may,  in  its  Cartesian 
form,  be  said  to  be  exploded,  it  does  really  continue  to  be  upheld, 
under  a  new  form.  A  conviction  of  the  paramount  necessity  of 
some  such  groundwork  for  metaphysical  speculation  has  led  to 
the  modern  theory  of  Necessary  Truths.  This  plausible  theory 
has  been  adopted  by  Dr.  Whewell  in  his  Philosophy  of  the  In- 

*  Lettres  de  Descartes,  liv. 


IS    THE   METHOD    TRUE  ?  455 

ductive  Sciences  ;  but  his  arguments  have  been  completely 
shattered  by  John  Mill  on  the  one  hand,  and  by  Sir  John  Her- 
schel  on  the  other.* 

The  basis  of  all  modern  ontolog-ical  speculations  lies  in  the  as 
sumption  that  we  have  ideas  independent  of  experience.  Experience 
can  only  tell  us  of  ourselves,  or  of  phenomena ;  of  noumena  it 
can  tell  us  nothing.  That  we  have  no  ideas  independent  of  ex 
perience  has  been  clearly  enough  established  in  the  best  schools 
of  psychology  ;  but  the  existence  of  metaphysical  speculation 
proves  that  the  contrary  opinion  still  finds  numerous  upholders.! 

The  fundamental  question  then  of  modern  Philosophy  was 
this  :  Have  we  any  Ideas  independent  of  Experience  ?  And  the 
attempt  to  solve  it  will  occupy  the  greater  portion  of  our  history. 
Before  entering  upon  it  we  must  exhibit  the  Method  of  Descartes, 
pushed  to  its  ultimate  conclusions  in  Spinoza.J 

*  System  of  Logic,  book  ii.  ch.  v. ;  and  Quarterly  Review,  June,  1841 ;  in 
deed,  Dr.  W  he  well's  arguments  had  been  anticipated  and  refuted  by  Locke 
long  before.  See  Essay,  book  iv.  ch.  6,  7. 

t  See  the  question  discussed  further  on :  Epoch  VIII.  §  v. 

%  The  best  modern  works  on  Descartes,  apart  from  regular  Histories  of 
Philosophy,  are  M.  Francisque  Boullier's  Histoire  et  Critique  de  la  Revolution 
Cartesienne,  Paris,  1842;  M.  Ch.  Kenouvier's  Manuel  de  la  Philos.  Moderne^ 
Paris,  1841 ;  and  Feuerbach's  Geschichte  derneuern  PMlosophie,  Leipzig,  1847. 
The  best  edition  of  Descartes'  works  is  that  by  Victor  Cousin,  in  eleven  vols., 
8vo.,  Paris,  1826.  M.  Jules  Simon  has  also  published  a  cheap  and  conveni 
ent  edition,  in  one  vojume,  of  the  Discourse  on  Method,  the  Meditations,  and 
the  Treatise  on  the  Pa-ssions,  Paris,  1844.  Both  of  these  have  been  excel 
lently  translated  into  English  (Edinburgh,  1853). 


CHAPTER   II. 

SPINOZA. 

§  I.    SPINOZA'S  LIFE. 

EARLY  in  the  seventeenth  century,  on  a  fair  evening  of  sum 
mer,  a  little  Jewish  boy  was  playing  with  his  sisters  on  the  Burg- 
wall  of  Amsterdam,  close  to  the  Portuguese  synagogue.  His 
face  was  mild  and  ingenious ;  his  eyes  were  small,  but  bright 
quick,  and  penetrative ;  and  the  dark  hair  floated  in  luxuriant 
curls  over  his  neck  and  shoulders.  Noticeable,  perhaps,  for  his 
beauty  and  joyousness,  the  little  boy  played  amongst  the  active 
citizens  of  that  active  town.  The  Dutch  then  occupied  the 
thoughtful  attention  of  all  Europe.  After  having  first  conquered 
for  themselves  firm  footing  on  this  earth,  by  rescuing  their  coun 
try  from  the  sea,  they  had  thrown  off  the  oppressive  yoke  of 
Spain ;  and  had  now  conquered  for  themselves  a  freedom  from  a 
far  greater  tyranny,  the  tyranny  of  thought. 

Amsterdam  was  noisy  with  the  creaking  of  cordage,  the  bawl 
ing  of  sailors,  and  the  busy  trafficking  of  traders.  The  Zuyder 
Zee  was  crowded  with  vessels  laden  with  precious  stores  from  all 
quarters  of  the  globe.  The  canals  which  ramify  that  city,  like 
a  great  arterial  system,  were  blocked  up  with  boats  and  barges  : 
the  whole  scene  was  vivid  with  the  greatness  and  the  littleness 
of  commerce.  Heedless  of  all  this  turmoil,  as  unheeded  in  it — 
heedless  of  all  those  higher  mysteries  of  existence,  the  solution 
of  which  was  hereafter  to  be  the  endeavor  of  his  life — untouched 
by  any  of  those  strange  questions  which  a  restless  spirit  cannot 
answer,  but  which  it  refuses  to  have  answered  by  others — heed 
less  of  every  thing  but  his  game,  the  little  boy  played  merrily 
with  his  sisters.  That  boy  was  Benedict  Spinoza. 


457 

It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  think  of  Spinoza  as  a  boy,  playing 
at  boyish  games.  He  has  for  so  long  been  the  bugbear  of  theo 
logians  and  timid  thinkers ;  he  has  for  so  long  been  looked  upon 
as  a  monster,  an  atheist,  and  (to  add  to  the  horror),  a  Jewish 
atheist ;  and  looked  upon,  even  by  those  who  were  not  so  aghast 
at  the  consequences  of  his  system,  as  nothing  more  than  a  frigid 
logician,  that  we  dwell  with  singular  pleasure  on  any  more  human 
aspect  of  his  character.  We  hope,  ere  we  have  done,  to  con 
vince  the  reader  that  this  rigorous  logician  was  a  wise,  virtuous, 
and  affectionate  man. 

His  parents  were  honest  merchants  of  Amsterdam,  who  had 
settled  there  in  company  with  a  number  of  their  brethren,  on 
escaping  the  persecution  to  which  all  Jews  were  subject  in  Spain. 
The  young  Baruch*  was  at  first  destined  to  commerce;  but  his 
passion  for  study,  and  the  precocity  of  his  intellect,  made  his 
parents  alter  their  resolution  in  favor  of  a  rabbinical  education  : 
a  resolution  warranted  by  sickliness  of  constitution,  which  had 
increased  his  love  of  study.  The  sickly  child  is  mostly  thought 
ful  :  he  is  thrown  upon  himself  and  his  own  resources ;  he  suf 
fers,  and  asks  himself  the  cause  of  his  pains,  asks  himself 
whether  the  world  suffers  like  him ;  whether  he  is  one  with  na 
ture,  and  subject  to  the  same  laws,  or  whether  he  is  apart  from 
it,  and  regulated  by  distinct  laws.  From  these  he  rises  to  the 
awful  questions — Why  ?  Whence  ?  and  Whither  ? 

The  education  of  the  Jews  was  almost  exclusively  religious, 
the  Old  Testament  and  the  Talmud  forming  their  principal  stu 
dies.  Spinoza  entered  into  them  with  a  fanatical  zeal,  which, 
backed  as  it  was  by  remarkable  penetration  and  subtlety,  won 
the  admiration  of  the  Chief  Rabbin,  Saul  Levi  Morteira,  who  be 
came  his  guide  and  instructor.  Great  indeed  were  the  hopes  en 
tertained  of  this  youth,  who  at  fourteen  rivalled  almost  all  the 
doctors  in  the  exactitude  and  extent  of  his  biblical  knowledge. 

*  Baruch  was  Spinoza's  Hebrew  name,  which  he  himself  translated  into 
Latin  as  Benedictus ;  from  which  some  have  erroneously  supposed  that  he 
embraced  Christianity,  whereas  he  only  renounced  Judaism. 

20 


458  SPINOZA. 

But  these  hopes  were  turned  to  fears,  when  they  saw  that  young 
and  pertinacious  spirit  pursue  his  undaunted  inquiries  into  what 
ever  region  they  conducted  him,  and  found  him  putting  difficul 
ties  to  them  which  they,  Rabbins  and  philosophers,  were  unable 
to  solve. 

Spinoza  was  to  be  deterred  neither  by  threats  nor  by  sophisti 
cations.  He  found  in  the  Old  Testament  no  mention  of  the  doc 
trine  of  immortality :  there  was  complete  silence  on  the  point.* 
He  made  no  secret  of  his  opinions ;  and  two  of  his  schoolfel 
lows,  irritated  at  his  intellectual  superiority,  or  else  anxious  to 
curry  favor  with  the  Rabbins,  reported  his  heresy  with  the  usual 
fertility  of  exaggeration.  Summoned  to  appear  before  the  Syn 
agogue,  he  obeyed  with  a  gay  carelessness,  conscious  of  his  inno 
cence.  His  judges,  finding  him  obstinate  in  his  opinions,  threat 
ened  him  with  excommunication:  he  answered  with  a  sneer. 
Morteira,  informed  of  the  danger,  hastened  to  confront  his  re 
bellious  pupil ;  but  Spinoza  remained  as  untouched  by  his  rhet 
oric  as  he  was  unconvinced  by  his  arguments.  Enraged  at  this 
failure,  Morteira  took  a  higher  tone,  and  threatened  him  with 
excommunication,  unless  he  at  once  retracted.  His  pupil  was 
irritated,  and  replied  in  sarcasms.  The  Rabbin  then  impetuously 
broke  up  the  assembly,  and  vowed  "only  to  return  with  the 
thunderbolt  in  his  hand." 

In  anticipation  of  the  threatened  excommunication,  Spinoza 
wisely  withdrew  himself  from  the  Synagogue — a  step  which 
profoundly  mortified  his  enemies,  as  he  thereby  rendered  futile  all 
intimidations  which  had  been  employed  against  him,  particularly 
the  otherwise  terrible  excommunication ;  for  what  terror  could 
such  a  sentence  inspire  in  one  who  voluntarily  absented  himself 
from  the  society  which  pretended  to  exclude  him  ? 

Dreading  his  ability,  and  the  force  of  his  example,  the  Syna 
gogue  made  him  an  offer  of  an  annual  pension  of  a  thousand 

*  On  this  silence  Warburton  endeavored  to  establish  the  divinity  of  the 
Legation  of  Moses  ;  and  Bishop  Sherlock  has  exerted  considerable  ingenuity 
in  explaining1  the  discrepancy  which  skeptics  had  seized  hold  of  as  an  argu 
ment  in  their  favor. 


459 

florins,  if  he  would  only  consent  to  be  silent,  and  assist  from  time 
to  time  at  their  ceremonies.  Spinoza,  indignant  at  such  an  at 
tempt  to  palter  with  his  conscience,  refused  it  with  scorn.  One 
evening,  as  he  was  coming  out  of  the  theatre,  where  he  had 
been  relaxing  his  overtasked  mind,  he  was  startled  by  the  fierce 
expression  of  a  dark  face,  thrust  eagerly  before  his.  The  glare 
of  bloodthirsty  fanaticism  arrested  him ;  a  knife  gleamed  in  the 
air,  and  he  had  barely  time  to  parry  the  blow.  It  fell  upon  his 
chest,  but,  fortunately  deadened  in  its  force,  only  tore  his  coat. 
The  assassin  escaped.  Spinoza  walked  home  thoughtful.* 

The  day  of  excommunication  at  length  arrived ;  and  a  vast 
concourse  of  Jews  assembled  to  witness  the  awful  ceremony.  It 
began  by  the  solemn  and  silent  lighting  of  a  quantity  of  black 
wax  candles,  and  by  opening  the  tabernacle  wherein  were  depos 
ited  the  Books  of  the  Law  of  Moses.  Thus  were  the  dim  imagina- 

O 

tions  of  the  faithful  prepared  for  all  the  horror  of  the  scene.  Mor- 
teira,  the  ancient  friend  and  master,  now  the  fiercest  enemy  of  the 
condemned,  was  to  order  the  execution  of  the  sentence.  He 
stood  there,  pained,  but  implacable ;  the  people  fixed  their  eager 
eyes  upon  him.  High  above,  the  chanter  rose  and  chanted  forth, 
in  loud,  lugubrious  tones,  the  words  of  execration ;  while  from 
the  opposite  side  another  mingled  with  these  curses  the  thrilling 
sounds  of  the  trumpet ;  and  now  the  black  candles  were  reversed, 
and  were  made  to  melt,  drop  by  drop,  into  a  huge  tub  filled  with 
blood.  This  spectacle — a  symbol  of  the  most  terrible  faith — 
made  the  whole  assembly  shudder;  and  when  the  final  Anath 
ema  Maranatha!  were  uttered,  and  the  lights  all  suddenly  im- 
merced  in  the  blood,  a  cry  of  religious  horror  and  execration 
burst  from  all ;  and  in  that  solemn  darkness,  and  to  those  solemn 
curses,  they  shouted  Amen,  Amen ! 

Thus  was  the  young  truth-seeker  expelled  from  his  commu- 


*  Some  of  the  biographers  contradict  Bayle's  statement  of  the  assassina 
tion  being  attempted  as  Spinoza  was  leaving  the  theatre,  and  declare  that  he 
was  coming  from  the  Synagogue;  but  they  forget  that  he  had  entirely  re 
nounced  going  there,  and  this  was  the  probable  motive  of  the  assassin. 


460  SPINOZA. 

nil)',  his  friends  and  relations  forbidden  to  hold  intercourse  with 
him.  Like  the  young  and  energetic  Shelley,  who  afterwards  im 
itated  him,  he  found  himself  an  outcast  iu  this  busy  world,  with 
no  other  guides  through  its  perplexing  labyrinths  than  sincerity 
and  self-dependence.  Two  or  three  new  friends  soon  presented 
themselves ;  men  who  warred  against  their  religion  as  he  had 
warred  against  his  own ;  and  a  bond  of  sympathy  was  forged 
out  of  a  common  injustice.  Here  again  we  trace  a  resemblance 
to  Shelley,  who,  discountenanced  by  his  relations,  sought  amongst 
a  few  skeptical  friends  to  supply  the  affections  he  was  thus  de 
prived  of.  Like  Spinoza,  he  too  had  only  sisters,  with  whom  he 
had  been  brought  up.  No  doubt,  in  both  cases,  the  conscious 
ness  of  sincerity,  and  the  pride  of  martyrdom,  were  great  sus- 
tainments  in  this  combat  with  society.  They  are  always  so ;  and 
it  is  well  that  they  are  so,  or  the  battle  would  never  be  fought ; 
but  they  never  entirely  replace  the  affections.  Shut  out  from 
our  family,  we  may  seek  a  brotherhood  of  apostasy ;  but  these 
new  and  precarious  intellectual  sympathies  are  small  compensa 
tion  for  the  loss  of  the  emotional  sympathies,  with  all  their  links 
of  association,  and  all  their  memories  of  childhood. 

Spinoza  must  have  felt  this,  and,  to  fill  the  void  of  his  yearn 
ing  heart,  he  sought  the  daughter  of  his  friend  and  master,  Van 
den  Eude,  as  his  wife. 

This  Van  den  Eude  had  some  influence  on  Spinoza's  life.  He 
was  a  physician  in  Amsterdam,  who  conducted  a  philological 
seminary  with  such  success,  that  all  the  wealthy  citizens  sent  him 
their  sons ;  but  it  was  afterwards  asserted,  that  to  every  dose  of 
Latin  he  added  a  grain  of  atheism.  He  undertook  to  instruct 
Spinoza  in  Latin,  and  to  give  him  board  and  lodging,  on  condi 
tion  that  he  should  subsequently  aid  him  in  instructing  his  schol 
ars.  This  Spinoza  accepted  with  joy  ;  for  although  master  of 
the  Hebrew,  German,  Spanish,  Portuguese  (and  of  course  Dutch) 
languages,  he  had  long  felt  the  urgent  necessity  of  Latin. 

Van  den  Ende  had  a  daughter;  her  personal  charms  were 
equivocal,  but  she  was  thoroughly  versed  in  Latin,  and  was  an 


461 

accomplished  musician.  The  task  of  teaching  young  Benedict 
generally  fell  to  her :  and  as  a  consequence  the  pupil  soon  be 
came  in  love  with  the  tutor.  We  often  picture  this  courtship  as 
a  sort  of  odd  reverse  of  Abelard  and  Heloise.  Spinoza  we  fancy 
not  inattentive  to  the  instruction,  but  the  more  in  love  with  it 
coming  from  so  soft  a  mouth  :  not  inattentive,  yet  not  wholly  ab 
sorbed.  He  watches  her  hand  as  it  moves  along  the  page,  and 
longs  to  squeeze  it.  While  "  looking  out"  in  the  dictionary,  their 
hands  touch — and  he  is  thrilled;  but  the  word  is  found,  never 
theless.  The  lesson  ended,  he  ventures  on  a  timid  compliment, 
which  she  receives  with  a  kind  smile;  but  the  smile  is  lost, 
for  the  bashful  philosopher  has  his  eyes  on  the  ground ;  when 
he  raises  them,  it  is  to  see  her  trip  away  to  household  duties,  or 
to  another  pupil :  and  he  looks  after  her  sighing.  But,  alas  for 
maidenly  discernment!  our  female  Abelard  was  more  captivated 
by  the  showy  attractions  of  a  certain  Kerkering,  a  young  Ham 
burg  merchant,  who  had  also  taken  lessons  in  Latin  and  love 
from  the  fair  teacher ;  and  who,  having  backed  his  pretensions 
by  the  more  potent  seductions  of  pearl  necklaces,  rings,  etc., 
quite  cast  poor  Benedict  into  the  shade,  who  then  turned  from 
love  to  philosophy. 

His  progess  in  Latin  had,  however,  been  considerable ;  he 
read  it  with  facility,  and  found  it  invaluable  in  his  philosophical 
studies,  especially  as  the  works  of  Descartes  now  fell  into  his 
hands :  these  he  studied  with  intense  avidity,  feeling  that  a  new 
world  was  therein  revealed.  The  laws  of  the  ancient  Jewish 
doctors  expressly  enjoin  the  necessity  of  learning  some  mechan 
ical  art,  as  well  as  the  study  of  the  law.  It  was  not  enough, 
they  said,  to  be  a  scholar — the  means  of  subsistence  must  also 
be  learned.  Spinoza  had  accordingly,  while  belonging  to  the 
Synagogue,  learnt  the  art  of  polishing  glasses  for  telescopes,  mi 
croscopes,  etc.,  in  which  he  arrived  at  such  proficiency  that  Leib 
nitz,  writing  to  him,  mentioned,  "  Among  the  honorable  things 
which  fame  has  acquainted  me  with  respecting  you,  I  learn  with 
no  small  interest  that  you  are  a  clever  optician."  By  polishing 


462  SPINOZA. 

glasses  he  gained  a  subsistence — humble,  it  is  true,  but  equal  to 
his  wants.  To  this  he  joined,  by  way  of  relaxation,  the  study  of 
design,  and  soon  became  very  expert.  Colerus  had  a  portfolio 
of  portraits  of  several  distinguished  men,  sketched  by  him ;  and 
one  among  them  was  a  portrait  of  himself,  in  the  dress  of  Ma- 
saniello.* 

In  his  eight-and-twentieth  year  Spinoza  left  his  natal  city  of 
Amsterdam,  and  resolving  to  devote  his  life  to  study,  retired  to 
Rhynsburg,  near  Leyden,  where,  still  pursuing  his  trade  as  a 
glass-polisher,  he  devoted  every  spare  hour  to  philosophy.  The 
fruits  of  his  solitude  were  the  Abridgment  of  the  Meditations  of 
Descartes,  with  an  Appendix,  in  which  he  first  disclosed  the 
principal  points  of  his  own  system.  This  is  a  very  interesting 
work.  It  contains  the  most  accurate  and  comprehensible  ac 
count  of  Descartes  ever  written ;  and  the  Appendix  is  curious,  as 
containing  the  germ  of  the  Ethica.  It  made  a  profound  sensa 
tion  ;  and  when,  the  following  year,  he  removed  to  Woorburg 
a  small  village  near  the  Hague,  his  reputation  attracted  to  him 
a  great  concourse  of  visitors.  Many  enmities  were  excited 
amongst  the  disciples  of  Descartes,  by  the  exposition  of  the  weak 
points  of  their  master's  system ;  and  Spinoza  had  to  suffer  their 
rude  attacks  in  consequence.  But  the  attention  of  all  thinking- 
men  was  fixed  upon  him ;  and  the  clearness  and  precision  of  his 
work  won  him  admiration.  So  many  new  friendships  did  he 
form,  that  he  at  last  yielded  to  the  numerous  solicitations  that 
he  should  come  and  live  entirely  at  the  Hague.  It  was  not  the 
learned  alone  who  sought  his  friendship ;  men  of  rank  in  public 
affairs  were  also  numbered  amongst  them.  Of  the  latter  we  may 
mention  the  celebrated  Jan  de  Witt,  who  loved  Spinoza,  and 
profited  by  his  advice  in  many  an  emergency.  The  great  Conde 
also,  during  the  invasion  of  Holland  by  the  French,  sent  to  de- 


*  "Your  enemies  have  not  failed  to  assert  that  by  that  you  pretended  to 
show  that  you  would  create  in  a  little  while  the  same  uproar  in  Christianity 
that  Masaniello  created  in  Naples." — Rmoontre  de  Bayle  avec  Spinoza  dans 
Vautre  Monde.  1711. 


463 

sire  Spinoza  to  come  and  see  him.  The  Philosopher  obeyed,  but 
the  Prince  was  prevented  from  keeping  his  appointment — to  his 
own  loss.  This  journey  was  very  near  proving  fatal  to  Spinoza. 
The  populace  having  learned  that  he  had  been  in  communication 
with  the  enemy,  began  to  suspect  him  of  being  a  spy.  His  land 
lord,  alarmed  at  these  reports,  warned  him  of  them ;  he  feared, 
he  said,  that  the  populace  would  attack  the  house.  "  Fear  noth 
ing,"  replied  Spinoza,  calmly  ;  "  it  is  easy  for  me  to  justify  my 
self,  and  there  are  persons  enough  who  know  the  object  of  my 
journey  ;  but  whatever  may  arrive,  as  soon  as  the  people  assemble 
before  your  door,  I  will  go  out  and  meet  them,  even  though  I 
should  share  the  fate  of  De  Witt."  The  same  calm  courage 
which  made  him  proclaim  the  truth,  now  made  him  ready  to 
confront  the  infuriated  populace.  Fortunately  all  passed  off  in 
peace,  and  he  was  left  to  his  studies.  Karl  Ludwig,  anxious  to 
secure  so  illustrious  a  thinker,  offered  him  the  vacant  chair  of 
Philosophy  at  Heidelberg,  which,  however,  Spinoza  could  not 
accept,  conscious  that  the  philosophy  he  would  teach  was  too 
closely  allied  to  theology  not  to  trench  on  its  dogmas ;  and  the 
Elector  had  expressly  stipulated  that  he  should  teach  nothing 
which  could  prejudice  the  established  religion.  He  therefore 
begged  to  decline  it,  as  his  public  duties  would  interfere  with  his 
private  meditations.  Yet  it  was  both  a  lucrative  and  honorable 
post  he  refused ;  but  a  philosophical  contempt  for  worldly  honors 
was  amongst  his  characteristics. 

It  is  invigorating  to  contemplate  Spinoza's  life.  Dependent 
on  his  own  manual  exertions  for  his  daily  bread,  limited  in  his 
wants,  and  declining  all  pecuniary  assistance  so  liberally  offered 
by  his  friends,  he  was  always  at  ease,  cheerful,  and  occupied. 
There  is  an  heroic  firmness  traceable  in  every  act  of  his  life ; 
there  is  a  perpetual  sense  of  man's  independence,  worthy  all  imi 
tation.  He  refuses  to  accept  the  belief  of  another  man — he  will 
believe  for  himself;  he  sees  mysteries  around  him,  awful,  inex 
plicable  ;  but  he  will  accept  of  no  man's  explanation.  God  has 
given  him  a  soul,  a?ad  with  that  he  will  solve  the  problem,  or 


464:  SPINOZA. 

remain  without  a  solution.  He  leaves  the  Synagogue ;  he  leaves 
Descartes;  he  thinks  for  himself.  In  a  far  subordinate  sphere 
he  will  also  assert  his  independence.  Having  but  the  most  mis 
erable  pittance,  and  with  the  purses  of  his  friends  open  to  him, 
he  preferred  limiting  his  desires  to  accepting  their  bounties.  He 
preferred  working  and  gaining  his  own  subsistence,  so  long  as  it 
was  to  be  gained.  This  was  no  crotchet,  neither  was  it  ignoble 
calculation.  The  friends  were  sincere,  their  offers  were  sincere  : 
he  knew  it,  but  thanked  them,  and  declined.  The  heritage, 
which  on  his  father's  death  fell  to  his  lot,  he  resigned  to  his  sis 
ters.  The  large  property  which  his  friend  Simon  de  Vries  had 
announced  his  intention  of  leaving  him,  he  would  not  consent  to 
accept,  but  made  Simon  alter  his  will  in  favor  of  his  brother,  at 
Schiedam.  The  pension  offered  him  if  he  would  dedicate  his 
next  work  to  Louis  XIV.,  he  refused,  "  having  no  intention  of 
dedicating  any  thing  to  that  monarch."  He  was  indebted  to  no 
one  but  to  God  ;  who  had  given  him  talents,  and  energy  to  make 
those  talents  available,  not  to  let  them  and  him  rot  in  idleness,  or 
in  ignoble  dependence,  while  all  the  world  had  to  toil.* 

Yet  it  was  a  hard,  griping  poverty  that  he  endured.  On  look 
ing  over  his  papers  after  his  death,  they  found  accounts  of  his 
expenditure.  One  day  he  ate  nothing  but  a  soupe  au  lait,  with 
a  little  butter,  which  cost  about  three  halfpence,  and  a  pot  of 
beer,  which  cost  three  farthings  more.  Another  day  he  lived  on 
a  basin  of  gruel,  with  some  butter  and  raisins,  which  cost  him 
twopence  halfpenny ;  "  And,"  says  the  pastor  Colerus,  "  although 
often  invited  to  dinner,  he  preferred  the  scanty  meal  that  he 
found  at  home,  to  dining  sumptuously  at  the  expense  of  another." 
This  was  the  man  who  was,  by  his  contemporaries,  branded  with 
the  names  of  Atheist  and  Epicurean ;  and  who  has  borne  these 

*  It  was  in  a  man's  own  energy  that  he  saw  the  germ  of  worth  and  great 
ness,  and  wisely  ridiculed  the  notion  of  patronage  in  this  noteworthy  pas 
sage  :  "  Governments  should  never  found  academies,  for  they  serve  more  to 
oppress  than  to  encourage  genius.  The  unique  method  of  making  the  arts 
and  sciences  flourish,  is  to  allow  every  individual  to  teach  what  he  thinks,  at 
his  own  risk  and  peril."— Tract.  Pollt.  c.  3,  §  49. 


465 

names  forever  after  through  all  Europe,  excepting  only  Germany. 
While  on  the  one  hand  no  man  was  perhaps  ever  more  filled 
with  religion  (so  that  Novalis  could  call  him  a  "God-intoxicated 
man"),  on  the  other  hand  his  Epicureanism,  at  twopence-half 
penny  sterling  per  diem,  stands  a  legible  charge  against  him. 

The  publication  of  his  Tractatus  Thcologico-Politicus  was  an 
event  of  some  importance,  both  in  the  history  of  philosophy  and 
of  Spinoza.  The  state  of  men's  minds  at  that  period  was  not 
favorable  to  the  reception  of  any  great  philosophical  system  ; 
and  Spinoza  found  himself  obliged  to  prepare  the  way  for  his 
future  doctrines,  by  examining  the  nature  of  that  ecclesiastical 
power  which  could  excite  at  will  such  violent  perturbation  in 
the  State,  and  by  examining  also  the  foundations  on  which  that 
power  reposed.  This  great  question  still  agitates  mankind ;  and 
it  is  as  curious  as  instructive  to  observe  that  the  late  orthodox 
and  estimable  Dr.  Arnold  taught  a  doctrine  precisely  similar  to 
that  taught  by  the  heretical  and  persecuted  Spinoza.* 

Times  were  troubled.  Holland,  it  is  true,  was  reposing  on 
her  laurels,  won  in  the  long  and  desperate  struggle  against 
Spain.  Having  freed  herself  from  a  foreign  yoke,  she  had,  one 
would  fancy,  little  now  to  do  but  to  complete  her  canals,  extend 
her  commerce,  and  enjoy  her  peace.  But  this  land  of  political 
freedom — this  ark  of  refuge  for  the  persecuted  of  all  nations — 
the  republic  whose  banner  was  freedom,  and  in  whose  cities  Eu 
ropean  freethinkers  published  their  works — was  disturbed  by 
theological  faction.  The  persecuted  Jews  might  flock  from 
Spain  and  Portugal,  the  synagogue  might  rear  itself  beside  the 
church  ;  the  Protestants  of  France  and  Belgium  were  welcome 
as  brothers  and  citizens;  but,  arrived  there,  the  fugitives  might 
witness,  even  there,  the  implacable  war  of  party.  Toleration 
was  afforded  to  political  freethinking,  and  to  the  diversities  of 
religion ;  but,  within  the  pale  of  the  State  religion,  malice  and 
all  uncharitableness  were  daily  witnessed.  There  the  Gomarists 

*  Compare  Arnold,  Introductory  Lectures  on  Modern  History:  Appendix 
to  the  first  Lecture. 


466  SPINOZA. 

and  Arminians  disputed  concerning  the  infallibility  of  their  doc 
trines,  and  cloaked  their  political  ambition  under  evangelical 
protestations.* 

This  was  the  state  of  things  on  the  appearance  of  the  Trac- 
tatus.  Spinoza,  seeing  the  deplorable  dissensions  of  the  theolo 
gians,  endeavored  to  make  evident  the  necessity  of  a  State 
religion,  which,  without  absolutely  imposing,  or  interfering  with, 
private  creeds,  should  regulate  all  outward  observances.  Because, 
as  it  is  the  office  of  the  State  to  watch  over  all  that  concerns 
the  common  welfare,  so  should  it  watch  over  the  Church,  and 
direct  it  according  to  the  general  wish.  But  two  things  per 
fectly  distinct  must  not  here  be  confounded,  viz.  liberty  of 
observance  and  liberty  of  thought.  The  latter  is  independent  of 
all  civil  power ;  but  the  former  must  be  subject  to  it,  for  the 
sake  of  the  public  tranquillity. 

Although  this  portion  of  the  Tractatus  could  not  have  met 
with  general  approbation,  yet  it  would  scarcely  have  raised 
violent  dissensions,  had  Spinoza  confined  himself  to  such  specu 
lation  ;  but,  anticipating  the  rationalism  of  modern  Germans,  he 
undertook  a  criticism  of  the  Bible,  and  attacked  the  institution 
of  priesthood  as  injurious  to  the  general  welfare.  It  is  curious 
to  notice  Spinoza's  anticipation  of  the  Hegelian  Christology, 
which,  in  the  hands  of  Strauss,  Feuerbach,  and  Bruno  Bauer, 
has  made  so  much  noise  in  the  theological  world  : — "  I  tell  you," 
says  Spinoza,  in  his  letter  to  Oldenburg,  "that  it  is  not  necessary 
for  your  salvation  that  you  should  believe  in  Christ  according  to 
the  flesh ;  but  of  that  eternal  son  of  God,  i.  e.  eternal  ivisdom  of 
God,  which  is  manifested  in  all  things,  but  mostly  in  the  human 
mind,  and  most  of  all  in  Jesus  Christ,  a  very  different  concep 
tion  must  be  formed.'1 — "Dico  ad  salutem  non  esse  omnino 
necesse,  Christum,  secundum  carnem  noscere,  sed  de  seterno  illo 
filio  Dei,  hoc  est,  Dei  sterna  sapientia,  quse  sese  in  omnibus 
rebus,  et  maxime  in  mente  human  a  et  omnium  maxime  in 

*  Saintes,  Histoire  de  la  Vie  de  Spinoza,  p.  6&. 


467 

Christo  Jesu  manifestavit,  longe  aliter  sentiendum."*  The  con 
sequences  were  as  might  have  been  expected :  the  book  was  at 
once  condemned,  and  forbidden  to  be  received  in  almost  every 
country.  This,  as  usual,  only  gave  a  greater  stimulus  to  curi 
osity,  and  the  sensation  the  work  produced  may  be  judged  of 
by  the  quantity  of  "  refutations  "  which  appeared.  Many  were 
the  artifices  used  to  introduce  it  into  the  various  countries.  An 
edition  was  published  at  Leyden,  under  this  title :  Dan.  Hensii 
Operum  Historicorum  collectio  prima.  Edit.  //.,  priori  editione 
multo  emendatior  et  auctior  ;  accedunt  qucedam  hactenus  inedita. 
This  was  reprinted  at  Amsterdam  as  Henriquez  de  Villacorta, 
M.  Dr.  a  Cubiculo  Philippi  IV.,  Caroli  //.,  Archiatri  Opera 
chirurr/ica  omnia,  sub  auspiciis  potentissimi  Hispaniarum  Regis. 
This  absurd  title  was  adopted  to  pass  it  into  Spain.  Another 
edition  in  French,  called  La  Clef  du  Sanctuaire,  was  published 
at  Leyden  in  1678,  and  in  Amsterdam  as  Traite  des  Ceremonies 
des  Juifs,  and  again  as  Reflexions  curieuses  d'un  Esprit  des- 
interesse. 

Spinoza's  devotion  to  study,  with  its  concurrent  abstemious 
ness  and  want  of  exercise,  soon  undermined  his  constitution ; 
but  he  never  complained.  He  suffered  that,  as  he  had  suffered 
every  thing  else — in  silence.  Once,  only,  a  hint  escapes  him. 
"If  my  life  be  continued,"  he  writes  to  a  friend  respecting  a 
promise  to  explain  certain  matters.  No  plaint — no  regret — 
merely  a  condition  put  upon  a  promise.  He  was  a  calm,  brave 
man ;  he  could  confront  disease  and  death,  as  he  had  confronted 
poverty  and  persecution.  Bravery  of  the  highest  kind  distin 
guished  him  through  life,  and  it  was  not  likely  to  fail  him  on 
the  quitting  it ;  and  yet  beneath  that  calm,  cold  stoicism,  there 
was  a  childlike  gayety  springing  from  a  warm  and  sympathizing 
heart.  His  character  was  made  up  of  generous  simplicity  and 
heroic  forbearance.  He  could  spare  somewhat  from  even  his 
scanty  pittance  to  relieve  the  wretched.  He  taught  the  learned 

*  Opera  Posthuma,  p.  450. 


468  SPINOZA. 

world  the  doctrines  he  had  elaborated  with  endless  toil ;  but  he 
taught  children  to  be  regular  in  their  attendance  on  divine  ser 
vice.  He  would  question  his  host  and  hostess,  on  their  return 
from  church,  respecting  the  sermon  they  had  heard,  and  the 
benefit  they  had  derived.  He  had  no  unwise  proselytism  which 
would  destroy  convictions  in  minds  unfitted  to  receive  others. 
One  day  his  hostess  asked  him  if  he  believed  that  she  would  be 
saved  by  her  religion.  He  answered,  "  Your  religion  is  a  good 
one — you  ought  not  to  seek  another,  nor  doubt  that  yours  will 
procure  your  salvation,  provided  you  add  to  your  piety  the 
tranquil  virtues  of  domestic  life."  Words  full  of  wisdom,  spring 
ing  from  an  affectionate  and  experienced  mind. 

So  lived  the  Jew,  Spinoza.  So  he  developed  his  own  nature, 
and  assisted  the  development  in  others.  Given  up  to  philosophy, 
he  found  in  it  "  the  true  medicine  of  the  soul "  of  which  Cicero 
speaks.*  His  only  relaxations  were  his  pipe,  receiving  visitors, 
chatting  to  the  people  of  his  house,  and  watching  spiders  fight. 
This  last  amusement  would  make  the  tears  roll  down  his  cheeks 
with  laughter. 

The  commencement  of  the  year  1677  found  him  near  his  end. 
The  phthisis,  which  he  had  suffered  from  for  twenty  years,  now 
alarmingly  increased.  On  Sunday,  the  22d  February,  he  insisted 
on  his  kind  host  and  hostess  leaving  him,  and  attending  divine 
service,  as  he  would  not  permit  his  illness  to  obstruct  their  devo 
tions.  They  obeyed.  On  their  return  he  talked  with  them 
about  the  sermon,  and  ate  some  broth  with  a  good  appetite. 
After  dinner  his  friends  returned  to  church,  leaving  the  physician 
with  him.  When  they  came  home  they  learned,  with  sorrow 
and  surprise,  that  he  had  expired  about  three  o'clock,  in  the 
presence  of  the  physician,  who  seized  what  money  there  was  on 
the  table,  together  with  a  silver-handled  knife,  and  left  the  body 
without  further  care.  So  died,  in  his  forty-fifth  year,  in  the  full 
vigor  and  maturity  of  his  intellect,  Benedict  Spinoza.  "  Offer 

*  Cicero,  Tusc.  iii.  6.  Compare  also  the  fine  saying  of  Giordano  Bruno 
(p.  393). 


SPINOZA'S  DOCTRINE.  469 

up  with  me  a  lock  of  hair  to  the  manes  of  the  holy  but  repudi 
ated  Spinoza !"  exclaims  the  pious  Schleiermacher.  "  The  great 
spirit  of  the  world  penetrated  him  ;  the  Infinite  was  his  beginning 
and  his  end ;  the  universe  his  only  and  eternal  love.  He  was 
filled  with  religion  and  religious  feeling ;  and  therefore  it  is  that 
he  stands  alone,  unapproachable ;  the  master  in  his  art,  but 
elevated  above  the  profane  world,  without  adherents,  and  with 
out  even  citizenship."* 

§  II.  SPINOZA'S  DOCTRINE. 

The  system  of  Spinoza,  which  has  excited  so  much  odium,  is 
but  the  logical  development  of  the  system  of  Descartes  which  has 
excited  so  much  admiration.  Curious !  The  demonstration  of 
the  existence  of  God  was  one  of  Descartes'  proudest  laurels ;  the 
demonstration  of  the  existence  of  God — and  of  no  other  exist 
ence  being  possible — condemned  Spinoza  to  almost  universal 
execration. 

Dugald  Stewart,  generally  one  of  the  most  candid  of  men,  evi 
dently  shared  the  common  prejudice  with  respect  to  Spinoza. 
He  refuses  therefore  to  admit  that  Spinoza,  whom  he  dislikes, 
held  opinions  at  all  similar  to  those  of  Descartes,  whom  he  ad 
mires.  "It  was  in  little  else,"  says  he,  "than  his  physical  prin 
ciples  that  he  agreed  with  Descartes ;  for  no  two  philosophers 
ever  differed  more  widely  in  their  metaphysical  and  theological 
tenets.  Fontenelle  characterizes  his  system  as  Cartesianism 
pushed  to  extravagance."  This  is  far  from  correct.  Spinoza 
differed  with  Descartes  on  a  few  points,  and  agreed  with  him  on 
most ;  the  differences  were  only  those  of  a  more  rigorous  logical 
development  of  the  principles  both  maintained. 

It  was  at  an  important  era  in  Spinoza's  life  that  the  writings 
of  Descartes  fell  in  his  way.  He  was  then  striving  to  solve  for 
himself  the  inexplicable  riddle  of  the  universe.  He  had  studied 
with  the  learned  Morteira ;  but  though  wise  in  all  the  wisdom 

*  Schleiermaclier,  Rede  uber  die  Religion,  p.  47. 


470  SPINOZA. 

of  the  Jews,  he  was  still  at  an  immeasurable  distance  from  the 
desired  solution.  Descartes  captivated  him  by  the  boldness  of 
his  logic,  and  by  the  independent  nature  of  his  Method,  jvvhereby_ 
truth  was  sought_in  the  inner  world  of  man,  not  in  the  outward 
world,  nor  in  the  records  of  authority.  He  studied  Descartes 
with  avidity ;  but  he  soon  found  that  there  also  the  riddle  re 
mained  unsolved.  He  found  the  fact  of  his  own  existence  some 
what  superfluously  established ;  but  the  far  greater  existence  in 
which  his  own  was  included — of  which  the  great  All  was  but  a 
varied  manifestation — of  this  he  found  no  demonstration.  Cogito, 
ergo  sum,  is  irresistible.  Cogito,  ergo  Deus  est,  is  no  basis  for 
philosophy. 

Spinoza  therefore  asked  himself — What  is  the  noumenon  which 
lies  beneath  all  phenomena  ?  We  see  everywhere  transforma 
tions  perishable  and  perishing  ;  yet  there  must  be  something  be 
neath,  which  is  imperishable,  immutable  ;  what  is  it  ?  We  see 
a  wondrous  universe  peopled  with  wondrous  beings,  yet  none  of 
these  beings  exist  per  se,  but  per  aliud  :  they  are  not  the  authors 
of  their  own  existence ;  they  do  not  rest  upon  their  own  reality, 
but  on  a  greater  reality — on  that  of  the  TO  sv  xai  TO  crav.  What 
is  this  reality  ? 

The  question,  Spinoza  thought,  could  not  be  answered  by  the 
idea  of  Perfection.  No  :  the  great  reality  of  all  existence  is  Sub 
stance.  Not  Substance  in  the  gross  and  popular  sense  of  "  body" 
or  "matter,"  but  the  substans — that  which  is  standing  under  all 
phenomena,  supporting  and  giving  them  reality.  What  is  a 
phenomenon  ?  An  appearance,  a  thing  perceived :  a  state  of 
the  perceiving  mind.  But  what  originates  this  perception — 
what  changes  the  mind  from  its  prior  to  its  present  state  ?  Some 
thing,  external  and  extrinsic,  changes  it.  AVhat  is  this  some 
thing  ?  What  it  is,  in  itself,  we  can  never  know :  because  to 
know  it  would  bring  it  under  the  forms  and  conditions  of  the 
mind,  i.  e.  would  constitute  it  a  phenomenon  : — unknown,  there 
fore,  but  not  denied — this  ens — this  something,  is ;  and  this, 
which  Kant  calls  noumenon,  Spinoza  calls  Substance. 


471 

All  philosophy,  as  all  existence,  must  start  from  one  principle', 
which  must  be  the  ground  of  all.  What  is  this  commencement 
— this  apx*)  ?  Perfection,  replies  Descartes.  No,  says  Spinoza, 
Perfection  is  an  attribute  of  something  prior  to  it.  Substance  is 
tb&JjLfSdL  Descartes,  in  common  with  most  philosophers,  had 
assumed  a  duality :  he  had  assumed  a  God,  and  a  world  created 
by  God.  Substance,  to  him,  was  by  no  means  the  primal  fact  of 
all  existence ;  on  the  contrary,  he  maintained  that  both  Exten 
sion  and  Thought  were  Substances  ;  in  other  words,  that  mind 
and  matter  were  distinct  independent  Substances,  different  in 
essence,  and  united  only  by  God.  Spinoza  affirmed  that  both 
Extension  and  Thought  were  nothing  more  than  Attributes ;  and 
by  a  subtle  synthesis  he  reduced  the  duality  of  Descartes  to 
an  all-embracing  unity,  and  thus  arrived  at  a  conception  of 
the  One. 

The  absolute  Existence — the  Substance — (call  it  what  you 
will)  is  God.  From  Him  all  individual  concrete  existences  arise. 
All  that  exists,  exists  in  and  by  God  ;  and  can  only  thus  be  con 
ceived.  Here  then  the  mystery  of  the  world  begins  to  unfold 
itself  to  the  patient  thinker ;  he  recognizes  God  as  the  fountain 
of  life ;  he  sees  in  the  universe  nothing  but  the  manifestation  of 
God  ;  the  finite  rests  upon  the  bosom  of  the  infinite  ;  the  incon 
ceivable  variety  resolves  itself  into  unity.  There  is  but  one  real 
ity,  and  that  is  God. 

Such  was  Spinoza's  solution  of  the  problem  :  upon  this  he  felt 
he  could  repose  in  peace,  and  upon  this  only.  To  live  with  God 
— to  know  God  with  perfect  knowledge,  was  the  highest  point 
of  human  development  and  happiness;  and  to  this  he  conse 
crated  his  life.  Taking  the  words  of  St.  Paul,  "  In  Him  we  live, 
move,  and  have  our  being,"  as  his  motto,  he  undertook  to  trace 
the  relations  of  the  world  to  God  and  to  man,  and  those  of  man 
to  society. 

Spinoza  agreed  with  Descartes  in  these  three  vital  positions : 
— I.  The  basis  of  all  certitude  is  Consciousness.  II.  Whatever 
is  clearly  perceived  in  Consciousness  must  therefore  be  necessari- 


472  SPINOZA. 

ly  true  ;  and  distinct  ideas  are  true  ideas,  true  expressions  of  ob 
jective  existences.     III.  Consequently  metaphysical  problems  are 
susceptiWe  of  mathematical  demonstration. 
_^.Xhe  only  noxQlty^in^nozas  Methods,  JhalJL_k.aJiirther 


development  of  the  Method  of  Descartes,-  Descartes  thought 
that  the  mathematical  Method  was  capable  of  being  applied  to 
metaphysics,  but  he  did  not  apply  it;  Spinoza  did  apply  it. 
This  may  seem  a  trifling  addition  :  in  reality  it  was  the  source 
of  all  the  differences  between  Spinoza  and  his  teacher.  Des 
cartes'  principles  will  inevitably  lead  to  Spinoza's  system,  if  those 
principles  are  rigorously  carried  out.  But  Descartes  never  at 
tempted  the  rigorous  deduction  of  those  consequences,  which 
Spinoza,  using  the  mathematical  method,  calmly  and  inflexibly 
deduced.  Those  who  rebel  at  the  conclusions  drawn,  must  im 
pugn  the  premises  from  which  they  are  drawn  ;  for  the  system 
of  Spinoza  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  demonstration. 

To  this  demonstration  we  are  about  to  lead  our  readers,  and 
only  beg  of  them  a  little  steady  attention  and  a  little  patient 
thought,  convinced  that  they  will  then  have  little  difficulty  in 
finding  their  way.  We  shall  translate  some  portions  of  the 
Ethica  with  the  utmost  care,  because  we  think  it  every  way  ad 
visable  that  the  reader  should  have  Spinoza's  own  mode  of  state 
ment,  and  thereby  be  enabled  to  watch  his  manner  of  deducing 
his  conclusions  from  his  premises.  The  work  opens  with  eight 

DEFINITIONS. 

I.  By  a  thing  which  is  its  own  Cause  I  understand  a  thing, 
the  essence  of  which  involves  existence  ;  or  the  nature  of 
which  can  only  be  considered  as  existent.* 
II.  A  thing  finite  is  that  which  can  be  limited  (terminari  po- 
by  another  thing  of  the  same  nature,  e.  g.  body  is  said 


*  This  is  an  important  definition,  as  it  gets  rid  of  the  verbal  perplexity 
hitherto  felt  relative  to  an  "endless  chain  of  causes."  The  doubter  might 
always  ask  the  cause  of  the  first  cause  in  the  series ;  but  here,  by  identi 
fying  cause  and  existence,  Spinoza  annihilates  the  difficulty. 


473 

to  be  finite  because  it  can  always  be  conceived  as  larger. 
So  thought  is  limited  by  other  thoughts.  But  body  does 
not  limit  thought,  nor  thought  limit  body. 

III.  By  Substance  I  understand  that  which  exists  in  itself,  and 
is  conceived  per  se :  in   other  words,  the  conception  of 
which  does  not  require  the  conception  of  any  thing  else 
antecedent  to  it. 

IV.  By  Attribute  I  understand  that  which  the  mind  perceives 
as  constituting  the  very  essence  of  Substance. 

V.  By  Modes  I  understand  the  accidents  (a/ectiones)  of  Sub 
stance  ;  or  that  which  is  in  something  else,  through  which 
also  it  is  conceived. 

VI.  By  God  I  understand  the  Being  absolutely  infinite,  i.  e.  the 
Substance  consisting  of  infinite  Attributes,  each  of  which 
expresses  an  infinite  and  eternal  essence. 

Explanation:  I  say  absolutely  infinite,  but  not  infinite  suo 
genere  ;  for  to  whatever  is  infinite  only  suo  genere,  we  can 
deny  infinite  Attributes ;  but  that  which  is  absolutely  in 
finite  includes  in  its  essence  every  thing  which  implies  es 
sence,  and  involves  no  negation. 

VII.  That  thing  is  said  to  be  free  which  exists  by  the  sole  ne 
cessity  of  its  nature,  and  by  itself  alone  is  determined  to 
action.  But  that  thing  is  necessary,  or  rather  constrained, 
which  owes  its  existence  to  another,  and  acts  according  to 
certain  and  determinate  causes. 

VIII.  By  Eternity  I  understand  Existence  itself,  in  as  far  as  it  is 
conceived  necessarily  to  follow  from  the  sole  definition  of 
an  eternal  thing. 

These  are  the  Definitions :  they  need  not  long  be  dwelt  on, 
although  frequently  referred  to  by  him ;  above  all,  no  objection 
ought  to  be  raised  against  them,  as  unusual  or  untrue,  for  they 
are  the  meanings  of  various  terms  in  constant  use  with  Spinoza, 
and  he  has  a  right  to  use  them  as  he  pleases,  provided  he  does 
not  afterwards  depart  from  this  use,  which  he  is  careful  not  to 
do.  We  now  come  to  the  seven  axioms. 


474  SPINOZA. 

AXIOMS. 

I.  Every  thing  which  is,  is  in  itself,  or  in  some  other  thing. 
II.  That  which  cannot  be  conceived  through  another  (per  aliud) 
must  be  conceived  through  itself  ( per  se). 

III.  From  a  given  determinate  cause  the  effect  necessarily  fol 
lows  ;  and  vice  versa,  if  no  determinate  cause  be  given,  no 
effect  can  follow. 

IV.  The  knowledge  of  an  effect  depends  on  the  knowledge  of 
the  cause,  and  implies  it. 

V.  Things  that  have  nothing  in  common  with  each  other  can 
not  be  understood  by  means  of  each  other,  i.  e.  the  concep 
tion  of  one  does  not  involve  the  conception  of  the  other. 

VI.  A  true  idea  must  agree  with  its  object  (idea  vera  debet  cum 
suo  ideato  convenire.) 

VII.  Whatever  can  be  clearly  conceived  as  non-existent,  does 
•  not,  in  its  essence,  involve  existence. 

These  axioms  at  once  command  assent,  if  we  except  the 
fourth,  which,  because  the  wording  is  ambiguous,  has  been 
sometimes  thought  absurd  ;  but  the  truth  is,  that  the  opposite 
conceptions  now  prevalent  respecting  cause  and  effect  prevent  a 
real  appreciation  of  this  axiom.  Mr.  Hallam  goes  so  far  as  to 
say,  "  It  seems  to  be  in  this  fourth  axiom,  and  in  the  proposition 
grounded  upon  it,  that  the  fundamental  fallacy  lurks.  The  rela 
tion  between  a  cause  and  effect  is  surely  something  perfectly  dif 
ferent  from  our  perfect  comprehension  of  it,  or  indeed  from  our 
having  any  knowledge  of  it  at  all ;  much  less  can  the  contrary 
assertion  be  deemed  axiomatic."*  There  is  a  want  of  subtlety 
in  this  criticism,  as  well  as  a  want  of  comprehension  of  Spinoza's 
doctrines;  and  we  wonder  it  never  suggested  itself  to  Mr.  Ilallam 
that  the  modern  notions  of  cause  and  effect  do  not  correspond 
with  the  Spinozistic  notions.  In  the  above  axiom  it  is  not 
meant  that  there  are  no  effects  manifested  to  us  of  which  we 

*  Introduction  to  Literature  of  Europe,  iv.  246. 


475 

do  not  also  know  the  causes — it  is  not  meant  that  a  man  receiv 
ing  a  blow  in  the  dark  is  not  aware  of  that  blow  (effect), 
though  ignorant  of  the  immediate  cause.  What  is  meant  is, 
that  a  complete  and  comprehensive  knowledge  of  the  effect  is 
only  to  be  obtained  through  a  complete  and  comprehensive 
knowledge  of  the  cause.  If  you  would  know  the  effect  in  its 
totality — in  itself — you  must  know  also  the  cause  in  its  totality. 
This  is  obvious :  for  what  is  an  effect  ? — an  effect  is  a  cause  re 
alized  :  it  is  the  natura  naturans  conceived  as  natura  naturata. 
We  call  the  antecedent,  Cause,  and  the  sequent,  Effect;  but 
these  are  merely  relative  designations :  the  sequence  itself  is 
antecedent  to  some  subsequent  change,  and  the  former  ante 
cedent  was  once  only  a  sequent  to  its  cause  ;  and  so  on.  Causa 
tion  is  change ;  when  the  change  is  completed,  we  name  the 
result  effect.  It  is  only  a  matter  of  naming.  But  inciting  this  x 
change,  causing  it,  as  we  say,  there  is  some  power  (cause)  in 
nature ;  to  know  this  effect  therefore — that  is,  not  merely  to  < 
have  a  relative  conception  of  our  own  condition  consequent  on 
it,  but  to  comprehend  this  power,  this  reality,  to  penetrate  its 
mystery,  to  see  it  in  its  totality,  we  must  know  what  the  effect 
is,  and  how  it  is ;  we  must  know  its  point  of  departure,  and  its 
point  of  destination  ;  in  a  word,  we  must  transcend  the  knowledge 
of  phenomena,  and  acquire  that  of  noumena.  In  a  popular  sense 
we  are  said  to  know  effects,  but  to  be  ignorant  of  causes. 
Truly,  we  are  ignorant  of  both — and  equally  ignorant.  A 
knowledge  of  sequences  we  have,  and  of  nothing  more.  The 
vital  power  determining  these  sequences  we  name,  but  cannot 
know  ;  we  may  call  it  attraction,  heat,  electricity,  polarization, 
etc.,  but,  having  named,  we  have  not  explained  it. 

This  is  what  Spinoza  implicitly  teaches;  and  had  Mr.  Hallam 
attended  only  to  what  the  very  next  axiom  proclaims,  namely, 
that  things  have  nothing  in  common  with  each  other,  cannot  be 
understood  by  means  of  each  other,  i.  e.  the  conception  of  one 
not  involving  the  conception  of  the  other — he  would  have  un 
derstood  Spinoza's  meaning;  for,  if  effect  be  different  from  cause, 


4:76  SPINOZA. 

then  its  conception  does  not  involve  the  conception  of  cause ; 
but  if  it  be  the  same  as  cause,  then  does  the  one  conception  in 
volve  that  of  the  other ;  ergo,  the  more  complete  the  knowledge 
of  the  one,  the  more  complete  the  knowledge  of  the  other. 
The  reader  will  bear  this  in  mind  when  studying  Spinoza. 
We  will  now  proceed  to  the 

PROPOSITIONS. 

PROP.  I.  Substance  is  prior  in  nature  to  its  accidents. 

Demonstration.  Per  Definitions  3  and  5. 

PROP.  II.  Two  Substances,  having  different  Attributes,  have 
nothing  in  common  with  each  other. 

Demonst.  This  follows  from  Def.  3  ;  for  each  Substance  must  be 
conceived  in  itself  and  through  itself;  in  other  words,  the 
conception  of  one  does  not  involve  the  conception  of  the 
other. 

PROP.  III.  Of  things  which  have  nothing  in  common,  one  can 
not  be  the  cause  of  the  other.* 

Demonst.  If  they  have  nothing  in  common,  then  (per  Axiom  5) 
they  cannot  be  conceived  by  means  of  each  other ;  ergo 
(per  Axiom  4)  one  cannot  be  the  cause  of  the  other. 
Q.  E.  D. 

PROP.  IV.  Two  or  more  distinct  things  are  distinguished  among 
themselves  either  through  the  diversity  of  their  Attributes, 
or  through  the  diversity  of  their  Modes. 

Demonst.  Every  thing  which  is,  is  in  itself  or  in  some  other 
thing  (per  Axiom  1) ;  that  is  (per  Def.  3  and  5),  there  is 


*  This  fallacy  has  been  one  of  the  most  influential  corrupters  of  philosoph 
ical  speculation.  For  many  years  it  was  undisputed ;  and  most  metaphy 
sicians  still  adhere  to  it.  See  Mill's  Si/stem  of  Logic,  ii.  37(3-386.  The 
assertion  is  that  only  like  can  act  upon  like.  This  was  the  assumption  of 
Anaxagoras,  and  the  groundwork  of  his  system.  If  the  assumption  be  cor 
rect,  his  system  is  true.  But  although  it  is  true  that  like  produces  (causes) 
like,  it  is  also  as  true  thatZi^e  produces  unlike:  thus  fire  produces  pain  when 
applied  to  our  bodies,  explosion  when  applied  to  gunpowder,  charcoal  when 
applied  to  wood  ;  all  these  eifects  are  unlike  the  cause.  Spinoza's  position 
is  logical ;  those  who  have  since  upheld  the  fallacy  have  not  that  excuse. 


SPINOZA/8    DOCTRINE.  477 

nothing-  out  of  ourselves  (extra  intellectum)  but  Substance 
and  its  Modes.  There  is  nothing  out  of  ourselves  whereby 
things  can  be  distinguished  amongst  one  another,  except 
Substances,  or  (which  is  the  same  thing,  per  Def.  4*)  their 
Attributes  and  Modes. 

PROP.  V.  It  is  impossible  that  there  should  be  two  or  more 
Substances  of  the  same  nature,  or  of  the  same  Attribute. 

Demonst.  If  there  are  many  different  Substances,  they  must  be 
distinguished  by  the  diversity  of  their  Attributes,  or  of  their 
Modes  (per  Prop.  4).  If  only  by  the  diversity  of  their 
Attributes,  it  is  thereby  conceded  that  there  is  nevertheless 
only  one  Substance  of  the  same  Attributes  ;  but  if  by  the 
diversity  of  their  Modes,  it  follows  that  Substance  being 
prior  in  nature  to  its  Modes,  it  must  be  considered  inde 
pendently  of  them  ;  that  is  (per  Def.  3  and  6),  cannot  be 
conceived  as  distinguished  from  another  ;  that  is  (per  Prop. 
4),  there  cannot  be  many  Substances,  but  only  one  Sub 
stance.  Q.  E.  D. 

PROP.  VI.  One  Substance  cannot  be  created  by  another  Sub 
stance. 

Demonst.  There  cannot  be  two  Substances  with  the  same  At 
tributes  (per  Prop.  5) ;  i.  e.  (per  Prop.  2),  having  any  thing 
in  common  with  each  other ;  and  therefore  (per  Prop.  3) 
one  cannot  be  the  cause  of  the  other. 

Corollary.  Hence  it  follows  that  Substance  cannot  be  created  by 
any  thing  else.  For  there  is  nothing  in  existence  except 
Substance  and  its  Modes  (per  Axiom  1,  and  Def.  3  and  5) ; 
now  this  Substance,  not  being  created  by  another,  is  self- 
caused. 

Corollary  2,  This  proposition  is  more  easily  to  be  demonstrated 
by  the  absurdity  of  its  contradiction  ; — for  if  Substance  can 


*  In  the  original,  by  a  slip  of  the  pen,  Axiom  4  is  referred  to  instead  of 
Def.  4 ;  and  Auerbach  has  followed  the  error  in  his  translation.  We  notice 
it  because  the  reference  to  Axiom  4  is  meaningless,  and  apt  to  puzzle  the 
student. 


478  SPINOZA. 

be  created  by  any  thing  else,  the  conception  of  it  would  de 
pend  on  the  conception  of  the  cause  (per  Axiom  4  *),  and 
hence  (per  Def.  3)  it  would  not  be  Substance. 
PROP.  VII.  It  pertains  to  the  nature  of  Substance  to  exist. 
Demonst.  Substance  cannot  be  created  by  any  thing  else  (per 
Coroll.  Prop.  6).  and  is  therefore  the  cause  of  itself;  i.e. 
(per  Def.  1)  its  essence  necessarily  involves  existence  ;  or 
it  pertains  to  the  nature  of  Substance  to  exist.     Q.  E.  D. 
PROP.  VIII.  All  Substance  is  necessarily  infinite. 
Demonst.  There  exists  but  one  Substance  of  the  same  Attribute  ; 
and  it  must  either  exist  as  infinite  or  as  finite.     But  not  as 
finite,  for  (per  Def.  2)  as  finite  it  must  be  limited  by  another 
Substance  of  the  same  nature,  and  in  that  case  there  would 
be  two  Substances  of  the  same  Attribute,  which  (per  Prop. 
5)  is  absurd.     Substance  therefore  is  infinite.     Q.  E.  D. 
Scholium. — I  do  not  doubt  that  to  all  who  judge  confusedly 
of  things,  and  are  not  wont  to  inquire  into  first  causes,  it  will  be 
difficult  to  understand  the  demonstration  of  Prop.   7,  because 
they  do  not  sufficiently  distinguish  between  the  modifications  of 
Substance,  and  Substance  itself,  and  are  ignorant  of  the  manner 
in  which  things  are  produced.     Hence  it  follows,  that  seeing 
natural  things  have  a  commencement,  they  attribute  a  commence 
ment  to  Substances ;  for  he  who  knows  not  the  true  causes  of 
things,  confounds  all  things,  and  sees  no  reason  why  trees  should 
not  talk  like  men;  or  why  men  should  not  be  formed  from 
stones  as  well  as  from  seeds  ;  or  why  all  forms  cannot  be  changed 
into  all  other  forms.     So,  also,  those  who  confound  the  divine 
nature  with  the  human,  naturally  attribute  human  affections  to 
God,  especially  as  they  are   ignorant  how  these   affections  are 
produced  in  the  mind.     But  if  men  attended  to  the  nature  of 
Substance,  they  would  not  in  the  least  doubt  the  truth  of  Prop. 
7  ;  nay,  this  proposition  would  be  an  axiom  to  all,  and  would  be 
numbered  among   common    notions.     For   by  Substance  they 

*  Here  the  potency  and  significance  of  Axiom  4  begins  to  unfold  itself. 


479 

would  understand  that  which  exists  in  itself,  and  is  conceived 
through  itself;  i.  e.  the  knowledge  of  which  does  not  require  the 
knowledge  of  any  thing  antecedent  to  it.*  But  by  modification 
they  would  understand  that  which  is  in  another  thing,  the  con 
ception  of  which  is  formed  through  the  conception  of  the  thing 
in  which  it  is,  or  to  which  it  belongs :  we  can  therefore  have 
correct  ideas  of  non-existent  modifications,  because,  although 
out  of  the  understanding  they  have  no  reality,  yet  their  essence 
is  so  comprehended  in  that  of  another,  that  they  can  be  con 
ceived  through  this  other.  The  truth  of  Substance  (out  of  the 
understanding)  lies  nowhere  but  in  itself,  because  it  is  conceived 
per  se.  If  therefore  any  one  says  that  he  has  a  distinct  and 
clear  idea  of  Substance,  and  yet  doubts  whether  such  a  Sub 
stance  exist,  this  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  has  a  true  idea, 
and  nevertheless  doubts  whether  it  be  not  false  (as  a  little  atten 
tion  sufficiently  manifests)  ;  or,  if  any  man  affirms  Substance  to 
be  created,  he  at  the  same  time  affirms  that  a  true  idea  has  be 
come  false  ;  than  which  nothing  can  be  more  absurd.  Hence 
it  is  necessarily  confessed  that  the  existence  of  Substance,  as 
well  as  its  essence,  is  an  eternal  truth.  And  hence  we  must 
conclude  that  there  is  only  one  Substance  possessing  the  same 
Attribute ;  a  position  which  requires  here  a  fuller  development. 
I  note  therefore — 

1.  That  the  correct  definition  of  a  thing  includes  and  expresses 
nothing  but  the  nature  of  the  thing  defined.     From  which  it 
follows — 

2.  That  no  definition  includes  or  expresses  a  distinct  number 
of  individuals,  because  it  expresses  nothing  but  the  nature  of  the 
thing  defined ;  e.g.  the  definition  of  a  triangle  expresses  no  more 
than  the  nature  of  a  triangle,   and  not  any  fixed  number  of 
triangles. 


*  The  reader  will  bear  in  mind  the  result  of  Descartes'  philosophy,  if  he 
would  fully  seize  Spinoza's  meaning  and  the  basis  on  which  it  reposes. 
Descartes,  as  we  saw,  could  find  nothing  indubitable  but  existence.  Exist 
ence  was  the  primal  fact  of  all  philosophy,  self-evident  and  indisputable. 


480  SPINOZA. 

3.  There  must  necessarily  be  a  distinct  cause  for  the  existence 
of  every  existing  thing. 

4.  This  cause,  by  reason  of  which  any  thing  exists,  must  be 
either  contained  in  the  nature  and  definition  of  the  existing  thing 
(viz.  that  it  pertains  to  its  nature  to  exist),  or  else  must  lie  beyond 
it — must  be  something  different  from  it. 

From  these  positions  it  follows,  that  if  a  certain  number  of  indi 
viduals  exist,  there  must  necessarily  be  a  cause  why  that  number, 
and  not  a  larger  or  smaller  number :  e.  g.  if  in  the  world  twenty 
men  exist  (whom,  for  greater  perspicuity,  I  suppose  to  exist  at 
once,  no  more  having  previously  existed),  it  will  not  be  sufficient 
to  show  the  reason  why  twenty  men  exist,  to  point  to  human 
nature  as  the  cause,  but  it  will  further  be  necessary  to  show  cause 
why  only  twenty  men  exist,  because  (per  note  3)  a  cause  must  be 
given  for  the  existence  of  every  thing.  This  cause  however  (per 
notes  2  and  3)  cannot  be  contained  in  human  nature  itself, 
because  the  true  definition  of  man  does  not  involve  the  number 
twenty.  Hence  (per  note  4)  the  cause  why  twenty  men  exist, 
and  why  each  individual  exists,  must  lie  beyond  each  of  them ; 
and  therefore  must  we  absolutely  conclude  that  every  thing,  the 
nature  of  which  admits  of  many  individuals,  must  necessarily 
have  an  external  cause.  As  therefore  it  pertains  to  the  nature 
of  Substance  to  exist,  so  must  its  definition  include  a  necessary 
existence,  and  consequently  from  its  sole  definition  we  must  con 
clude  its  existence.  But,  as  from  its  definition,  as  already  shown 
in  notes  2  and  3,  it  is  not  possible  to  conclude  the  existence  of 
many  Substances,  ergo  it  necessarily  follows  that  only  one  Sub 
stance  of  the  same  nature  can  exist." 

Here  we  may  pause  in  our  translation,  before  we  penetrate  too 
far  in  this  geometrical  exposition  of  Spinoza's  theology.  Enough 
has  already  been  given  to  exhibit  the  rigor  and  precision  with 
which  the  consequences  are  deduced  step  by  step,  each  propo 
sition  being  evolved  from  those  which  preceded  it;  and  he  who 
wishes  to  follow  the  system  in  detail  must  open  the  Ethics  for 
himself,  abridgment  being  impossible.  To  complete  our  expo- 


481 

sition  of  the  doctrine,  we  shall  merely  state  in  a  few  sentences 
the  principal  positions : 

There  is  but  one  infinite  Substance,  and  that  is  God.  What 
ever  is,  is  in  God;  and  without  Him,  nothing  can  be  conceived. 
He  is  the  universal  Being  of  which  all  things  are  the  manifesta 
tions.  He  is  the  sole  Substance  ;  every  thing  else  is  a  Mode  ;  yet, 
without  Substance,  Mode  cannot  exist.  God,  viewed  under  the 
attributes  of  Infinite  Substance,  is  the  natura  naturans, — viewed 
as  a  manifestation,  as  the  Modes  under  which  his  attributes 
appear,  he  is  the  natura  naturata.  He  is  the  cause  of  all  things, 
and  that  immauently,  but  not  transiently.  He  has  two  infinite 
attributes — Extension  and  Thought.  Extension  is  visible  Thought, 
and  Thought  is  invisible  Extension  :  they  are  the  Objective  and 
Subjective  of  which  God  is  the  Identity.  Every  thing  is  a  mode 
of  God's  attribute  of  Extension ;  every  thought,  wish,  or  feeling, 
a  mode  of  his  attribute  of  Thought.  That  Extension  and  Thought 
are  not  Substances,  as  Descartes  maintained,  is  obvious  from  this : 
that  they  are  not  conceived  per  se,  but  per  aliucl.  Something  is 
extended :  what  is  ?  Not  the  Extension  itself,  but  something 
prior  to  it,  viz.  Substance.  Substance  is  uncreated,  but  creates 
by  the  internal  necessity  of  its  nature.  There  may  be  many 
existing  things,  but  only  one  existence ;  many  forms,  but  only 
one  Substance.  God  is  the  "  idea  immanens  " — the  One  and  All. 

Such  is  a  brief  outline  of  the  fundamental  doctrine  of  Spinoza ; 
and  now  we  ask  the  reader,  can  he  reconcile  the  fact  of  this 
being  a  most  religious  philosophy,  with  the  other  fact  of  its 
having  been  almost  universally  branded  with  Atheism  ?  Is  this 
intelligible  ?  Yes ;  three  causes  present  themselves  at  once. 
1.  The  readiness  with  which  that  term  of  obloquy  has  been  ap 
plied  to  opponents,  from  time  immemorial — to  Socrates  as  to 
Gottlieb  Fichte.  2.  The  obscurity  of  polemical  vision,  and  the 
rashness  of  party  judgment.  3.  The  use  of  the  ambiguous  word 
Substance,  whereby  God  was  confounded  with  the  material  world. 

This  last  point  is  the  most  important,  and  deserves  attention. 
To  say  "  God  is  the  infinite  substance,"  does  look,  at  first  sight, 

21 


482  SPINOZA. 

like  the  atheism  of  the  D'Holbach  School ;  but  no  one  could 
ever  have  read  twenty  pages  of  Spinoza  without  perceiving  this 
to  be  a  misunderstanding ;  for  he  expressly  teaches  that  God  is 
not  corporeal,  but  that  body  is  a  Mode  of  Extension.*  No : 
God  is  not  the  material  universe,  but  the  universe  is  one  aspect 
of  his  infinite  Attribute  of  Extension  :  he  is  the  identity  of  the 
natura  naturans  and  the  natura  naturata.\ 

It  is  a  mere  verbal  resemblance,  therefore,  this,  of  Spinozism 
to  Atheism ;  but  the  history  of  philosophy  shows  too  many 
instances  of  verbal  analogies  and  ambiguities  becoming  sources 
of  grave  error,  to  astonish  any  reader. 

Next  to  the  inevitable  misapprehensions  created  by  Spinoza's 
use  of  the  word  Substance,  we  must  rank  among  the  sources  of 
his  ill  repute  the  misapprehensions  created  by  his  doctrine  of 
Final  Causes.  Although  Bacon  energetically  reprobated  the 
pursuit  of  Final  Causes — those  "  barren  virgins,"  as  he  charac 
teristically  styled  them — pointing  out  the  productive  error  of  all 
such  pursuit ;  and  although  the  advance  and  extension  of  science 
has  gradually  more  and  more  displaced  this  pursuit,  it  is  still 
followed  by  minds  of  splendid  reach  and  attainment,  as  the  surest 
principle  of  research  in  some  departments.  But  although  the 
error  has  the  countenance  of  men  whom  we  cannot  speak  of 

*  Dugald  Stewart  somewhat  naively  remarks  that  "in  no  part  of  Spinoza's 
works  has  he  avowed  himself  an  Atheist"  (he  would  have  been  very  much 
astonished  at  the  charge) ;  "  but  it  will  not  be  disputed  by  those  who  compre 
hend  the  drift  of  his  reasonings,  that,  in  point  of  practical  tendency,  Atheism 
and  Spinozism  are  one  and  the  same."  It  may  be  so  ;  yet  nothing  can  war 
rant  the  accusation  of  Atheism,  merely  because  Spinoza's  doctrines  may 
have  the  same  practical  tendency  as  that  of  Atheism.  Spinoza  did  not  deny 
the  existence  of  God ;  he  denied  the  existence  of  the  world  :  he  was  conse 
quently  an  Acosmist,  not  an  Atheist.  If  the  practical  tendency  of  these  two 
opposite  systems  really  is  the  same,  Spinoza  could  not  help  it. 

t  "  Natura  naturans  et  natura  naturata  in  identitate  Deus  est."  It  must 
be  borne  in  mind  that  identity  does  not  (as  in  common  usage)  mean  same 
ness,  but  the  root  from  which  spring  two  opposite  stems,  and  in  which  they 
have  a  common  life.  Man,  for  instance,  is  the  identity  of  soul  and  body; 
water  is  the  identity  of  oxygen  and  hydrogen.  Great  mistakes  are  con 
stantly  being  made,  owing  to  overlooking  this  distinction  of  vulgar  and 
philosophical  terms. 


483 

without  respect,  the  fact  itself  that  only  in  those  departments  of 
inquiry,  wherein  imperfect  knowledge  still  permits  the  Meta 
physical  Method  to  exercise  its  perverting  influence,  are  Final 
Causes  ever  appealed  to,  is  significant,  we  think,  of  the  nature  of 
the  error.  While  no  Astronomer,  no  Physicist,  no  Chemist 
reasons  ideologically,  there  are  many  Biologists  who  proclaim 
teleology  to  be  a  luminous  guide.  Cuvier  declared  that  to  it  he 
owed  his  discoveries ;  Owen  declares  that  it  has  often  aided  him. 
We  cannot  here  pause  to  discuss  the  validity  of  final  causes,  but 
the  reader  will  probably  be  glad  to  have  Spinoza's  remarkable 
analysis,  which  he  throws  into  an  Appendix  at  the  end  of  the 
book  De  Deo  : 

"  Men  do  all  things  for  the  sake  of  an  end,  namely  the  good, 
or  useful,  which  they  desire.  Hence  it  comes  that  they  always 
seek  to  know  only  the  final  causes  of  things  which  have  taken 
place,  and  when  they  have  heard  these  they  are  satisfied,  not 
having  within  themselves  any  cause  for  further  doubt.  But  if 
they  are  unable  to  learn  these  final  causes  from  some  one  else, 
nothing  remains  to  them  but  to  turn  in  upon  themselves,  and  to 
reflect  on  the  ends  by  which  they  are  themselves  wont  to  be 
determined  to  similar  actions  ;  and  thus  they  necessarily  judge 
of  the  mind  of  another  by  their  own.  Further,  as  within  them 
selves  and  out  of  themselves  they  discover  many  means  which 
are  highly  conducive  to  the  pursuit  of  their  own  advantage, — 
for  example,  eyes  to  see  with,  teeth  to  masticate  with,  vegetables 
and  animals  for  food,  the  sun  to  give  them  light,  the  sea  to 
nourish  fish,  etc., — so  they  come  to  consider  all  natural  things 
as  means  for  their  benefit:  and  because  they  are- aware  that  these 
things  have  been  found,  and  not  prepared  by  them,  they  have 
been  led  to  believe  that  some  one  else  has  adapted  these  means 
to  their  use.  For  after  considering  things  in  the  light  of  means, 
they  could  not  believe  these  things  to  have  made  themselves, 
but  arguing  from  their  own  practice  of  preparing  means  for  their 
use,  they  must  conclude  that  there  is  some  ruler  or  rulers  of 
nature  endowed  with  human  freedom,  who  have  provided  all 


484:  SPINOZA. 

these  things  for  them,  and  have  made  them  all  for  the  use  of 
men.  Moreover,  since  they  have  never  heard  any  thing  of  the 
mind  of  those  rulers,  they  must  necessarily  judge  of  this  mind 
also  by  their  own ;  and  hence  they  have  argued  that  the  Gods 
direct  all  things  for  the  advantage  of  man,  in  order  that  they 
may  subdue  him  to  themselves,  and  be  held  in  the  highest  honor 
by  him.  Hence  each  has  devised,  according  to  his  character,  a 
different  mode  of  worshipping  God,  in  order  that  God  might  love 
him  more  than  others,  and  might  direct  all  nature  to  the  advan 
tage  of  his  blind  cupidity  and  insatiable  avarice.  Thus  this 
prejudice  has  converted  itself  into  superstition,  and  has  struck 
deep  root  into  men's  minds ;  and  this  has  been  the  cause  why 
men  in  general  have  eagerly  striven  to  explain  the  final  causes  of 
all  things.  But  while  they  have  sought  to  show  that  Nature 
does  nothing  in  vain  (i.  e.  which  is  not  fit  for  the  use  of  men), 
they  seem  to  me  to  have  shown  nothing  else  than  that  Nature 
and  the  Gods  are  as  foolish  as  men.  And  observe,  I  pray  you, 
to  what  a  point  this  opinion  has  brought  them.  Together  with 
the  many  useful  things  in  Nature,  they  necessarily  found  not  a 
few  injurious  things,  namely,  tempests,  earthquakes,  diseases,  etc. ; 
these  they  supposed  happened  because  the  Gods  were  angry  on 
account  of  offences  committed  against  them  by  men,  or  because 
of  faults  incurred  in  their  worship ;  and  although  experience  every 
day  protests,  and  shows  by  infinite  examples  that  benefits  and 
injuries  happen  indifferently  to  pious  and  ungodly  persons,  they 
do  not  therefore  renounce  their  inveterate  prejudice.  For  it  was 
easier  to  them  to  class  these  phenomena  among  other  things,  the 
cause  of  which  was  unknown  to  them,  and  thus  retain  their 
present  and  innate  condition  of  ignorance,  than  to  destroy  all  the 
fabric  of  their  belief,  and  excogitate  a  new  one." 

We  cannot  pursue  the  argument  further,  because  in  the  sub 
sequent  positions  Spinoza  refers  to  propositions  proved  in  the 
Ethics  ;  what  has  been  given  will  however  suffice  to  show  how 
clearly  and  emphatically  he  described  the  anthropomorphic  tend 
ency  of  judging  Infinite  by  Finite  wisdom.  With  it  we  conclude 


SPINOZA'S  DOCTRINE.  485 

the  exposition  of  Spinoza's  theology — one  of  the  most  extraordi 
nary  efforts  of  speculative  faculty  which  history  has  revealed  to 
us.  We  have  witnessed  the  mathematical  rigor  with  which  it 
is  developed ;  we  have  followed  him  step  by  step,  dragged  on 
wards  by  his  irresistible  logic ;  and  yet  the  final  impression  left 
on  our  minds  is,  that  the  system  has  a  logical  but  not  a  vital  truth. 
We  shrink  back  from  the  consequences  whither  it  so  irresistibly 
leads  us ;  we  gaze  over  the  abyss  to  the  edge  of  which  we  have 
been  dragged,  and  seeing  naught  but  chaos  and  despair,  we  re 
fuse  to  build  our  temple  there.  We  retrace  our  steps  with  hur 
ried  earnestness,  to  see  if  no  false  route  has  been  taken ;  we 
examine  every  one  of  his  positions,  to  see  if  there  be  not  some 
secret  error,  parent  of  all  other  errors.  Arrived  at  the  starting- 
point,  we  are  forced  to  confess  that  we  see  no  error — that  each 
conclusion  is  but  the  development  of  antecedent  positions ;  and 
yet,  in  spite  of  this,  the  mind  refuses  to  accept  the  conclusions. 

This,  then,  is  the  state  of  the  inquirer :  he  sees  a  vast  chain  of 
reasoning  carried  on  with  the  strictest  rigor.  He  has  not  been 
dazzled  by  rhetoric  nor  confused  by  illustrations.  There  has 
been  no  artful  appeal  to  his  prejudices  or  passions ;  he  has  been 
treated  as  a  reasoning  being,  and  has  no  more  been  able  to  doubt 
the  positions,  after  once  assenting  to  the  definitions  and  axioms, 
than  he  is  able  to  doubt  the  positions  of  Euclid.  And  yet  we 
again  say  that  the  conclusions  are  repugned,  refused ;  they  are 
not  the  truth  the  inquirer  has  been  seeking ;  they  are  no  expres 
sions  of  the  thousand-fold  life,  the  enigma  of  which  he  has  been 
endeavoring  to  solve. 

Unable  to  see  where  this  discrepancy  lies,  he  turns  with  impa 
tience  to  the  works  of  others,  and  seeks  in  criticisms  and  refuta 
tions  an  outlet  from  his  difficulty.  But — and  it  is  a  curious 
point  in  the  history  of  philosophy — he  finds  that  this  bold  and 
extraordinary  thinker  has  never  been  refuted  by  any  one  meeting 
him  on  his  own  ground.  Men  have  taken  up  separate  proposi 
tions,  and  having  wrenched  them  from  their  connection  with  the 
whole  system,  have  easily  shown  them  to  be  quite  at  variance 


486  SPINOZA. 

with — the  systems  of  the  refutcrs.  This  is  easy  work.*  On  the 
other  hand,  the  inquirer  finds  that  the  great  metaphysicians  of 
Germany  adopt  Spinoza's  fundamental  positions,  differing  with 
him  only  on  points  of  detail  or  of  language.  In  their  works  the 
consequences  do  not  look  so  appalling,  because  they  are  set  forth 
in  lofty  terms  and  ambiguous  eloquence  ;  but  the  difference  is 
only  verbal.  Is  there,  then,  no  alternative?  Must  I  accept 
Spinoza's  system,  repugnant  as  it  is  ?  Such  is  the  inquirer's  per 
plexity. 

To  release  him  from  this  perplexity  will  perhaps  be  possible, 
although  only  possible,  we  believe,  by  arguments  which  cut  away 
the  root  of  all  metaphysical  knowledge  whatever.  If  Spinoza  is 
in  error,  the  error  must  be  initial,  for  we  have  just  admitted  that 
it  does  not  lie  in  any  illogical  deduction.  And  initial  the  error 
is.  The  method  brings  it  into  distinctness.  The  application  of 
Geometry  to  Metaphysics  is  the  process  most  repulsive  to  meta 
physicians,  because  it  best  serves  to  elucidate  the  nullity  of  their 
attempts.  Geometry  is  purely  deductive  ;  from  a  few  definitions 
and  axioms  the  whole  series  of  consequences  is  evolved.  Meta 
physics  also  is  purely  deductive ;  from  a  few  definitions  and 
axioms  it  constructs  a  universe.  M.  Damiron,  in  his  very  able 
Mfrnoire,  denies  that  the  geometrical  method  can  be  applied  to 
Metaphysics,  because  our  intelligence  cannot  form  notions  so  clear 
and  necessary  respecting  substance,  cause,  time,  good  and  evil,  as 
respecting  points,  lines,  and  surfaces ;  and  whenever  such  clear 
notions  have  been  attempted  it  has  only  been  by  sacrificing  some 
thing  of  the  reality,  by  the  consideration  of  one  aspect  to  the  ex 
clusion  of  the  other.f  This  is  perfectly  true  if  applied  to  meta- 


*  This  is  the  way  Bayle  answers  Spinoza ;  yet  his  answer  has  been  pro 
nounced  by  Dugald  Stewart  "  one  of  the  most  elaborate  and  acute  refuta 
tions  which  has  yet  appeared."  Mr.  Stewart's  dislike  of  the  consequences 
he  believed  inseparable  from  Spinozism  has  here,  we  think,  biased  his  judg 
ment.  Bayle's  attempt  at  a  refutation  is  now  pretty  generally  considered  to 
be  pitiable.  Jacobi  declares  Spinozism  to  be  unanswerable  by  those  who 
simply  reason  on  the  problem  :  faith  alone  can  solve  it  otherwise. 

t  Memoire  sur  Spinoza,  19,  20. 


487 

physicians  in  general ;  but  is  certainly  not  true  as  applied  to 
Spinoza,  whose  notions  of  substance,  cause,  etc.  are  not  less  clear 
than  his  notions  of  lines  and  surfaces, — a  point  we  shall  insist  on 
presently.  Meanwhile  let  us  ask,  why  can  we  not  form  notions 
of  cause,  substance,  and  the  rest,  equalling  in  clearness  our  no 
tions  of  lines  and  surfaces  ?  The  answer  to  this  question  dooms 
metaphysics  to  eternal  uncertainty  :  It  is  because  Geometry  never 
quits  the  sphere  of  its  first  assumption,  that  its  axioms  retain 
their  necessary  clearness,  and  its  consequences  their  necessary 
truth.  It  begins  with  lines  and  surfaces,  with  lines  and  surfaces 
it  ends ;  it  is  a  purely  subjective  and  deductive  science.  Its 
truths,  when  objectively  applied,  include  no  other  elements  than 
those  originally  given;  when  from  ideal  lines  and  the  relations 
of  those  lines  we  pass  to  real  lines  and  relations,  we  are  still 
strictly  within  the  sphere  of  lines  and  their  relations;  and  the 
mightiest  geometry  can  tell  us  nothing  whatever  of  any  other 
property  of  substance  ;  it  is  powerless  before  any  relations  except 
those  of  surfaces.  If  Metaphysics  could  thus  remain  within  the 
sphere  of  its  original  assumption,  it  also  might  rival  geometry  in 
precision;  but  Metaphysics  unhappily  starts  from  the  subjective 
sphere,  and  immediately  passes  on  to  the  objective,  pretending 
to  include  in  its  circle  far  more  than  is  given  in  the  original  sub 
jective  datum,  pretending  indeed  to  disclose  the  whole  nature  of 
substance,  cause,  time,  and  space,  and  not  merely  certain  relations 
among  our  ideas  of  these.  When,  for  example,  Spinoza  passes 
from  his  ideal  distinction  of  cause  and  effect  to  real  applications, 
as  when  he  proves  that  God  must  act  according  to  the  laws  of 
His  own  nature,  yet  without  constraint,  nothing  determining  Him 
save  His  own  perfection,  it  is  evident  that  by  this  Spinoza  be 
lieves  the  purely  subjective  definition  he  has  framed  expresses 
the  whole  truth  of  objective  reality ;  he  pretends  to  know  the 
nature  of  God,  and  to  know  it  through  the  notions  he  has  framed 
of  cause  and  effect.  The  error  here  is  as  great,  though  not  so 
potent,  as  if  a  mathematician  were  to  deduce  the  chemical  pro 
perties  of  a  salt  from  the  properties  of  right  angles.  To  select 


488  SPINOZA. 

another  example,  the  fifth  proposition,  on  which  so  much  of 
Spinoza's  system  depends :  "  It  is  impossible  that  there  should 
be  two  or  more  Substances  of  the  same  nature,  or  of  the  same 
Attribute."  This  is  subjectively  true ;  as  true  as  a  proposition 
in  Euclid ;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  perfectly  coherent  with  all  that 
Spinoza  teaches  of  Substance  and  Attribute ;  but  if  we  pass  from 
his  subjective  circle  out  into  the  great  world  of  reality — if  we 
disregard  his  definition,  and  look  only  at  actual  substances  before 
us — say  two  minerals — we  then  fail  to  detect  any  proof  of  his 
subjective  definition  necessarily  or  even  probably  according  with 
objective  fact,  since  we  perceive  the  definition  to  be  framed  from 
his  ideas,  and  not  founded  on  objective  reality. 

The  mathematician  deduces  conclusions  from  purely  subjective 
distinctions,  and  these  conclusions  are  found  to  correspond  with 
objective  fact,  to  nearly  the  whole  extent  of  what  was  originally 
assumed;  namely  the  relations  of  surfaces,  and  no  further.  The 
metaphysician  deduces  conclusions  equally  subjective,  and  it  may 
be  that  such  conclusions  will  apply  to  objective  fact  (as  when  it 
is  said  "  nothing  can  be  and  not  be  at  the  same  moment") ;  but 
the  moment  he  transcends  the  circle  of  subjective  distinction,  as 
when  he  speaks  of  Cause,  Time,  Space,  and  Substance,  his  ideas 
are  necessarily  indistinct,  because  he  cannot  know  these  things: 
he  can  only  frame  logical  conclusions  respecting  them,  and  these 
logical  conclusions  at  every  step  need  verification. 

This,  of  course,  the  metaphysician  will  deny.  He  believes  in 
the  validity  of  reason.  He  maintains  the  perfect  competence  of 
human  intellect  to  know  and  discourse  on  Cause,  Time,  Space, 
and  Substance ;  but  he  has  not  the  same  clear  argument  Spinoza 
had,  on  which  to  ground  this  belief.  And  here  we  are  face  to 
face  with  the  radical  assumption  which  constitutes  the  initial 
error  and  logical  perfection  of  Spinoza's  system.  He  holds  and 
expressly  teaches  that  the  subjective  idea  is  the  actual  image  or 
complete  expression  of  the  objective  fact.  "Hoc  est,  id  quod  in 
intellectu  objective  continetur  debet  necessario  in  natura  dari." 
The  order  and  connection  of  ideas  is  precisely  the  order  and 


SPINOZA'S  DOCTRINE.  489 

connection  of  things.  In  the  Scholium  to  Prop.  VIII.  we  have 
seen  him  maintaining  that  the  correct  definition  of  a  thing  ex 
presses  the  nature  of  a  thing,  and  nothing  but  its  nature  :  which 
is  true  in  one  sense ;  for  unless  it  express  the  nature  of  the 
thing,  the  definition  must  be  incorrect :  but  false  in  another  and 
more  important  sense  ;  for  every  definition  we  can  frame  only 
expresses  our  conceptions  of  the  nature  of  the  thing :  and  thus 
we  may  define  the  nature  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  moon,  and 
adhere  to  our  definitions  with  the  utmost  logical  rigor,  yet  all  the 
while  be  utterly  removed  from  any  real  knowledge  of  those  in 
habitants.  The  position  is  logically  deducible  from  Spinoza's 
conception  of  the  relation  between  Thought  and  Extension  as  the 
two  Attributes  of  Substance ;  but  it  is  a  position  which  is  emphat 
ically  contradicted  by  all  sound  psychology.  Nevertheless,  with 
out  it  Metaphysics  has  no  basis.  Unless  clear  ideas  are  to  be 
accepted  as  the  truths  of  things,  and  unless  every  idea,  which  is 
distinctly  conceived  by  the  mind,  has  its  ideate,  or  object, — met 
aphysicians  are  without  plausible  pretence. 

Having  thus  signalized  the  fundamental  position  of  Spinoza's 
doctrine,  it  is  there,  if  anywhere,  that  we  shall  be  able  to  show 
his  fundamental  error.  On  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  this  one 
assumption,  must  Spinozism  stand  or  fall ;  and  we  have  formerly 
endeavored  to  show  that  the  assumption  is  false.  Those  who 
agree  in  the  reasonings  we  adduced  may  escape  Spinozism,  but 
they  escape  it  by  denying  the  possibility  of  all  Philosophy. 

This  consideration,  that  the  mind  is  not  a  passive  mirror  re 
flecting  the  nature  of  things,  but  the  partial  creator  of  its  own 
forms — that  in  perception  there  is  nothing  but  certain  changes 
in  the  percipient — this  consideration,  we  say,  is  the  destruction 
of  the  very  basis  of  metaphysics,  for  it  expressly  teaches  that  the 
subjective  idea  is  not  the  correlate  of  the  objective  fact.:  and 
only  upon  the  belief  that  our  ideas  are  the  perfect  and  adequate 
images  of  external  things  can  any  metaphysical  speculation  rest. 
Misled  by  the  nature  of  geometry,  which  draws  its  truths  from 

the  mind  as  the  spicier  draws  the  web  from  its  bosom,  Descartes 

oj  o 


490  SPINOZA. 

assumed  that  metaphysical  truths  could  be  attained  in  the  same 
way.  This  was  a  confusion  of  reasoning,  yet  Spinoza,  Leibnitz, 
and  their  successors,  followed  him  unhesitatingly.  Spinoza,  how 
ever,  had  read  Bacon's  denouncement  of  this  a  priori  Method, 
though  evidently  unprepared  to  see  the  truth  of  the  protest.  It 
is  curious  to  read  his  criticism  of  Bacon :  he  looks  on  it  as  that 
writer's  great  error  to  have  mistaken  the  knowledge  of  the  first 
cause  and  origin  of  things.  "  On  the  nature  of  mind,"  he  says, 
"  Bacon  speaks  very  confusedly ;  and  while  he  proves  nothing, 
judges  much.  For  in  the  first  place  he  supposes  that  the  human 
intellect,  besides  the  deceptions  of  the  senses,  is  subject  to  the 
deceptions  of  its  own  nature,  and  that  it  conceives  every  thing 
according  to  the  analogies  of  its  own  nature,  and  not  according 
to  the  analogies  of  the  universe ;  so  that  it  is  like  an  unequal 
mirror  to  the  rays  of  things,  which  mixes  the  conditions  of  its 
own  nature  with  those  of  external  things."* 

We  look  upon  Spinoza's  aberration  as  remarkable,  however, 
because  he  had  also  seen  that  in  some  sense  the  subjective  was 
not  the  absolute  expression  of  the  objective  ;  as  is  proved  by  his 
celebrated  argument  for  the  destruction  of  final  causes,  wherein 
he  showed  that  order  was  a  thing  of  the  imagination,  as  were 
also  right  and  wrong,  useful  and  hurtful — these  being  merely 
such  in  relation  to  us.  Still  more  striking  is  his  anticipation  of 
Kant  in  this  passage :  "  Ex  quibus  clare  videre  est,  mensuram, 
tempus,  et  numerum,  nihil  esse  praeter  cogitandi,  seu  potius  ima- 
ginandi  modos;"  which  should  have  led  him  to  suspect  that 
the  same  law  of  mental  forms  was  also  applicable  to  all  other 
subjects. 

We  have  pointed  out  the  initial  error,  let  us  now  refer  to  the 
logical  perfection  of  Spinoza's  system.  M.  Damiron  argues 
against  the  application  of  the  geometric  method,  on  the  ground 


*  "  Nam  prhno  supponit  quod-intellectus  humamis,  praeter  fallaciam  sen- 
suum,  sua  sola  natura  fallitur,  omniaque  fingit  exanalogia  suae  natnraj,  etnon 
ex  analogia  universi;  adeo  ut  sit  instar  speculi  inaeqnalis  ad  radias  rerum, 
qui  suam  naturam  natur*  rerum  hnmiscet."— fipist.  ii.,  Opera,  p.  398. 


491 

of  the  imperfect  conceptions  men  form  of  metaphysical  objects; 
but  this,  as  already  hinted,  cannot  be  said  of  Spinoza's  concep 
tions  ;  they  are  as  perfect  and  as  clear  as  his  conceptions  of  ge 
ometry  ;  whether  they  are  as  accurate  and  comprehensive  as 
they  are  clear,  is  another  question.  Spinoza  would  maintain 
them  to  be  so ;  and  he  would  be  justified  on  his  principles ;  jus 
tified,  indeed,  on  all  logical  principles  of  metaphysics.  Did  we 
not  see  that  the  perfection  of  Mathematics  was  owing  to  its  never 
transcending  the  sphere  of  its  first  assumption,  never  including 
other  elements  than  those  included  in  its  definitions  and  axioms? 
Precisely  this  may  also  be  said  of  Spinozism  :  its  original  as 
sumption  is,  that  every  clear  idea  expresses  the  actual  nature  of 
the  object ;  and  hence  whatever  conclusions  are  logically  evolved 
from  clear  ideas,  will  be  found  objectively  represented  in  the  ex 
ternal  world.  Whether  the  mathematician  works  a  problem  in 
his  mind  with  ideal  surfaces,  or  actually  juxtaposes  substances 
and  points  out  their  relations  of  surface,  the  truths  deduced  are 
equally  valid ;  in  the  same  way,  whenever  a  Spinozist  works  out 
a  problem  with  ideal  elements,  he  is  doing  no  more — on  his  as 
sumption — than  if  he  had  the  objective  elements  before  him,  and 
could  visibly  disclose  their  relations.  Hence  the  full  justification 
of  Spinoza's  employment  of  the  geometrical  method.  And  his 
employment  of  it,  while  exciting  the  admiration  of  all  posterity 
for  the  gigantic  power  of  thought  disclosed,  has  had  the  further 
advantage  of  bringing  within  the  narrowest  possible  field,  the 
whole  question  of  the  possibility  of  Metaphysical  certitude. 

We  must  not,  however,  longer  linger  with  this  great  and  good 
man,  and  his  works.  A  brave  and  simple  man,  earnestly  medi 
tating  on  the  deepest  subjects  that  can  occupy  the  human  race, 
he  produced  a  system  which  will  ever  remain  as  one  of  the  most 
astounding  efforts  of  abstract  speculation — a  system  that  has 
been  decried,  for  nearly  two  centuries,  as  the  most  iniquitous  and 
blasphemous  of  human  invention ;  and  which  has  now,  within 
the  last  sixty  years,  become  the  acknowledged  parent  of  a  whole 
nation's  philosophy,  ranking  among  its  admirers  some  of  the 


4:92  SPINOZA. 

most  pious  and  illustrious  intellects  of  the  age.  The  ribald 
atheist  turns  out,  on  nearer  acquaintance,  to  be  a  "  God-intox 
icated  man."  The  blasphemous  Jew  becomes  a  pious,  virtuous, 
and  creative  thinker.  The  dissolute  heretic  becomes  a  childlike, 
simple,  self-denying-,  and  heroic  philosopher.  We  look  into  his 
works  with  calm  earnestness,  and  read  there  another  curious  page 
of  human  history :  the  majestic  struggle  with  the  mysteries  of  ex 
istence  has  failed,  as  it  always  must  fail ;  but  the  struggle  demands 
our  warmest  approbation,  and  the  man  our  ardent  sympathy. 
Spinoza  stands  out  from  the  dim  past  like  a  tall  beacon,  whose 
shadow  is  thrown  athwart  the  sea,  and  whose  light  will  serve  to 
warn  the  wanderers  from  the  shoals  and  rocks  on  which  hun 
dreds  of  their  brethren  have  perished.* 

*  Spinoza's  works  have  been  ably  edited  by  Prof.  Paulus,  and  better,  re 
cently  by  Bruder,  in  three  volumes,  12ino.  The  edition  we  use  is  the  quar 
to,  which  appeared  shortly  after  his  death  :  B.  D.  S.  Opera  Posthuma,  1677' 
A  very  close  and  literal  German  translation  in  five  small  volumes,  by  Berthold 
Auerbach,  was  published  in  1841.  M.  Emile  Saisset  published  one  more 
paraphrastic  in  French.  We  are  aware  of  scarcely  any  thing  in  English, 
critical  or  explanatory,  except  the  account  given  in  Mr.  Hallam's  Introduction, 
to  the  Literature  of  Europe,  and  the  articles  Spinoza  and  Spinozism  in  the 
Penny  Cyclopaedia,  and  Spinoza's  Life  and  Works  in  the  Westminster  Re 
view,  May,  184-3  (the  three  last  by  the  present  writer). 

Since  the  first  edition  of  this  History,  there  have  appeared  two  remarkable 
articles  by  Mr.  Froude, — one  on  Spinoza's  Life,  in  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
Review,  Oct.,  1847,  and  one  on  his  doctrine,  Westminster  Review,  July,  1854. 
An  analysis  of  the  Tractatus  appeared  in  the  British  Quarterly  a  few  years 
ago  ;  and  a  translation  of  the  Tractate  Politicus  by  William  Maccall,  1855. 

Besides  historians  of  philosophy  the  following  writers  may  be  consulted  ; 
Sigwart,  Der  Spinozismus  historisch  und  pJdlosophisch  erldutert ;  Herder, 
Gott,  emigre  Gesprdche  uber  Spinoza's  System  ;  Damiron,  Memoire  sur  Spinoza 
et  sa  Doctrine  (in  the  Memoires  de  VAcademie). 


CHAPTER  III. 
FIEST  CEISIS  IN  MODERN  PHILOSOPHY. 

THE  doctrine  of  Spinoza  was  of  great  importance,  if  only  be 
cause  it  brought  about  the  first  crisis  in  modern  Philosophy. 
His  doctrine  was  so  clearly  stated,  and  so  rigorously  deduced 
from  admitted  premises,  that  he  brought  Philosophy  into  this 
dilemma : 

Either  my  premises  are  correct,  and  we  must  admit  that 
every  clear  and  distinct  idea  is  absolutely  true  ;  true,  not  only 
subjectively,  but  objectively  ; — If  so,  my  system  is  true  ; 

Or  my  premises  are  false ;  the  voice  of  Consciousness  is  not 
the  voice  of  truth ;  and  if  so,  then  is  my  system  false,  but  all 
Philosophy  is  impossible  :  since  the  only  ground  of  Certitude — 
our  Consciousness — is  pronounced  unstable,  our  only  means  of 
knowing  the  truth  is  pronounced  fallacious. 

Spiuozism  or  Skepticism  ?  choose  between  them,  for  you  have 
no  other  choice. 

Mankind  refused  however  to  make  a  choice.  If  the  princi 
ples  which  Descartes  had  established  could  have  no  other  result 
than  Spinozism,  it  was  worth  while  inquiring  whether  those 
principles  themselves  might  not  be  modified. 

The  ground  of  discussion  was  shifted  :  psychology  took  the 
place  of  ontology.  It  was  Descartes'  theory  of  knowledge 
which  led  to  Spinozism ;  that  theory  therefore  must  be  exam 
ined  :  that  theory  henceforth  becomes  the  great  subject  of  dis 
cussion.  Before  deciding  upon  the  merits  of  any  system  which 
embraced  the  great  questions  of  Creation,  the  Deity,  Immor 
tality,  etc.,  men-  saw  that  it  was  necessary  to  decide  upon  the 
competence  of  the  human  mind  to  solve  such  problems. 


494  FIRST    CRISIS    IN    MODERN    PHILOSOPHY. 

All  knowledge  must  be  obtained  either  through  experience,  or 
independent  of  experience.  Knowledge  dependent  on  experience 
must  necessarily  be  merely  knowledge  of  phenomena.  All  are 
agreed  that  experience  can  only  be  experience  of  ourselves  as 
modified  by  objects.  All  are  agreed  that  to  know  things  per  se 
— noumena — we  must  know  them  through  some  other  channel 
than  experience. 

Have  we,  or  have  we  not,  that  other  channel  ?  This  is  the 
problem.  Before  we  can  dogmatize  upon  ontological  subjects, 
we  must  settle  this  question  : 

Can  we  transcend  the  sphere  of  our  Consciousness  and  know 
things  per  se  ? 

And  this  question  further  resolves  itself  into — Have  we  ideas 
independent  of  experience  ? 

To  answer  this  question  was  the  great  object  of  succeeding 
philosophers.  The  fact  that  modern  philosophy,  until  Fichte, 
was  almost  exclusively  occupied  with  Psychology  has  been  con 
stantly  noticed  ;  but  the  reason  why  Psychology  assumed  this 
importance,  the  reason  why  it  took  the  place  of  all  the  higher 
subjects  of  speculation,  has  not,  we  believe,  been  distinctly 
stated.  Men  have  contented  themselves  with  the  fact  that 
Psychology  occupied  little  of  the  attention  of  antiquity,  still 
less  of  the  attention  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  and  only  in  modern 
times  has  it  been  the  real  ground  on  which  the  contests  of  the 
schools  have  been  carried  on.  Psychology  was  the  result  of  a 
tendency  similar  to  that  which  in  science  produced  the  Inductive 
Method.  In  both  cases  a  necessity  had  arisen  for  a  new  course 
of  investigation ;  it  had  become  evident  that  men  had  begun  at 
the  wrong  end,  and  that  before  a  proper  answer  could  be  given 
to  any  of  the  questions  agitated,  it  was  necessary  first  to  settle 
the  limits  and  conditions  of  inquiry,  the  limits  and  conditions  of 
the  inquiring  faculties.  Thus  Consciousness  became  the  basis 
of  Philosophy  ;  to  make  that  basis  broad  and  firm,  to  ascertain 
its  nature  and  capacity,  became  the  first  object  of  speculation. 


THIRD  EPOCH. 

PHILOSOPHY  REDUCED  TO  A  QUESTION  OF  PSYCHOLOGY. 


CHAPTER   I. 
HOBBES. 

PERHAPS  no  writer  except  Spinoza  has  ever  been  so  uniformly 
depreciated  as  Hobbes.  From  his  first  appearance  until  the 
present  day  he  has  been  a  by-word  of  contempt  with  the 
majority  of  writers ;  and  even  by  those  who  have  been  liberal 
enough  to  acknowledge  merit  in  an  adversary,  he  has  been 
treated  as  a  dangerous  and  shallow  thinker.  The  first  person 
who  saw  his  importance  as  a  political  thinker,  and  had  the 
courage  to  proclaim  it,  was,  we  believe,  James  Mill.  But  as 
long  as  political  and  social  theories  continue  to  be  judged  of 
by  their  supposed  consequences,  so  long  will  Hobbes  be  denied  a 
fair  hearing.  He  has  roused  the  odium  theologkum.  It  will  be 
long  ere  that  will  be  appeased. 

Faults  he  had,  unquestionably;  short-comings,  incomplete 
views ;  and — as  all  error  is  dangerous  in  proportion  to  its  plausi 
bility — We  will  say  that  he  was  guilty  of  dangerous  errors. 
Let  the  faults  be  noted,  but  not  overstrained  ;  the  short-comings 
and  incomplete  views,  enlarged  and  corrected  ;  the  errors  calmly 
examined  and  refuted.  We  shall  be  gainers  by  it ;  but  by  in 
considerate  contempt,  by  vilifying,  no  good  result  can  be  ob 
tained.  Impartial  minds  will  always  rank  Hobbes  amongst  the 
greatest  writers  England  has  produced.  He  is  profound,  and  he 


496  HOBBES. 

is  clear;  weighty,  strong,  and  sparkling.  His  style,  as  mere 
style,  is  in  its  way  as  fine  as  any  thing  in  English  :  it  has  the 
clearness  as  well  as  the  solidity  and  brilliancy  of  crystal.  Nor 
is  the  matter  unworthy  of  the  form.  It  is  original,  in  the  sense 
of  having  been  passed  through  the  alembic  of  his  own  brain, 
even  when  formerly  the  property  of  others.  Although  little  of 
it  would  now  appear  novel,  it  was  novel  when  he  produced  it. 
Haughty,  dogmatic,  overbearing  in  manner,  he  loved  Truth,  and 
never  hesitated  to  proclaim  her.  "Harm  I  can  do  none,"  he 
says,  in  the  opening  of  the  Leviathan,  "though  I  err  no  less 
than  they  (i.  e.  previous  writers),  for  I  shall  leave  men  but  as 
they  are,  in  doubt  and  dispute  ;  but  intending  not  to  take 
any  principle  upon  trust,  but  only  to  put  men  in  mind  of  what 
they  know  already,  or  may  know  by  their  experience,  I  hope  to 
err  less  ;  and  when  I  do,  it  must  proceed  from  too  hasty  conclud 
ing,  which  I  will  endeavor  as  much  as  I  can  to  avoid."* 

In  this  passage  we  see  Locke  anticipated.  It  proclaims  that 
Psychology  is  a  science  of  observation  ;  that  if  we  would  under 
stand  the  conditions  and  operations  of  our  minds,  we  must 
patiently  look  inwards  and  see  what  passes  there.  All  the  rea 
soning  and  subtle  disputation  in  the  world  will  not  advance  us 
one  step,  unless  we  first  get  a  firm  basis  on  fact.  "  Man,"  he 
says  elsewhere,  with  his  usual  causticity,  "  has  the  exclusive 
privilege  of  forming  general  theorems.  But  this  privilege  is 
alloyed  by  another,  that  is,  by  the  privilege  of  absurdity,  to 
which  no  living  creature  is  subject  but  man  only.  And  of  men 
those  are  of  all  most  subject  to  it,  that  profess  Philosophy"  And 
the  cause  of  this  large  endowment  of  the  privilege  to  Philoso 
phers  we  may  read  in  another  passage,  where  he  attributes  the 
difficulty  men  have  in  receiving  Truth,  to  their  minds  being  pre 
possessed  by  false  opinions — they  having  prejudged  the  question. 
The  passage  is  as  follows  : — "  When  men  have  once  acquiesced 
in  untrue  opinions,  and  registered  them  as  authenticated  records 

*  Works,  edited  by  Sir  "VV.  Moleswortb,  iv.  1. 


HOBBES.  497 

in  their  minds,  it  is  no  less  impossible  to  speak  intelligibly  to 
such  men  than  to  write  legibly  on  a  paper  already  scribbled 
over." 

Hobbes's  position  in  the  History  of  Philosophy  is  easily  as 
signed.  On  the  question  of  the  origin  of  our  knowledge  he 
takes  a  decided  stand  upon  Experience :  he  is  the  precursor  of 
modern  Materialism  : 

"  Concerning  the  thoughts  of  man  I  will  consider  them  first 
singly,  and  afterwards  in  a  train  or  dependence  upon  one  another. 
Singly  they  are  every  one  a  representation  or  appearance  of 
some  quality  or  other  accident  of  a  body  without  us,  which  is 
commonly  called  an  object.  Which  object  worketh  on  the  eyes, 
ears,  and  other  parts  of  a  man's  body  ;  and  by  diversity  of  work 
ing,  produceth  diversity  of  appearances. 

"  The  original  of  them  all  is  that  which  we  call  Sense,  for  there 
is  no  conception  in  a  man's  mind  which  hath  not  at  first,  totally 
or  by  parts,  been  begotten  upon  the  organs  of  sense.  The  rest 
are  derived  from  that  original."'* 

We  have  here  stated,  in  the  broadest  manner,  the  principle 
of  Materialism.  It  is  in  direct  antagonism  to  the  doctrine  of 
Descartes  that  there  are  innate  ideas ;  in  direct  antagonism  to 
the  old  doctrine  of  the  spirituality  of  Mind.  Theoretically  this 
principle  may  be  insignificant ;  historically  it  is  important. 

Hobbes's  language  is  plain  enough,  but  we  will  still  further 
quote  from  him,  to  obviate  any  doubt  as  to  his  meaning. 

"According  to  the  two  principal  parts  of  man,  I  divide  his 
faculties  into  two  sorts — faculties  of  the  body,  and  faculties  of 
the  mind. 

*'  Since  the  minute  and  distinct  anatomy  of  the  powers  of  the 
body  is  nothing  necessary  to  the  present  purpose,  I  will  only  sum 
them  up  in  these  three  heads, — powet  nutritive,  power  genera 
tive,  and  power  motive. 

*  Leviathan,  ch.  1.  In  the  following  exposition  we  shall  sometimes  cite 
from  the  Leviathan,  and  sometimes  from  the  Human  Nature.  This  genera 
reference  will  enable  us  to  dispense  with  iterated  foot-notes. 


498  HOBBES. 

"  Of  the  powers  of  the  mind  there  be  two  sorts — cognitive,  im 
aginative,  or  conceptive  and  motive. 

"  For  the  understanding  of  what  I  mean  by  the  power  cogni 
tive,  we  must  remember  and  acknowledge  that  there  be  in  our 
minds  continually  certain  images  or  conceptions  of  the  things 
without  us.  This  imagery  and  representation  of  the  qualities  of 
the  things  without,  is  that  which  we  call  our  conception,  imagi 
nation,  ideas,  notice,  or  knowledge  of  them;  and  the  faculty,  or 
power  by  which  we  are  capable  of  such  knowledge,  is  that  I 
here  call  cognitive  power,  or  conceptive,  the  power  of  knowing  or 
conceiving." 

The  mind  is  thus  wholly  constructed  out  of  sense.  Nor  must 
we  be  deceived  by  the  words  faculty  and  power,  as  if  they  meant 
any  activity  of  the  mind — as  if  they  implied  that  the  mind  co 
operated  with  sense.  The  last  sentence  of  the  foregoing  passage 
is  sufficient  to  clear  up  this  .point.  He  elsewhere  says  : — "  All 
the  qualities  called  sensible  are,  in  the  object  that  causeth  them, 
but  so  many  several  motions  of  the  matter  by  which  it  presseth 
on  our  organs  diversely.  Neither  in  us  that  are  pressed  are  they 
any  thing  else  but  divers  motions  ;  for  motion  produceth  nothing 
but  motion.'1'1 

Hobbes,  therefore,  and  not  Locke,  is  the  precursor  of  that 
school  of  Psychology  which  flourished  in  the  eighteenth  century 
(principally  in  France),  and  which  made  every  operation  of  the 
mind  proceed  out  of  transformed  sensations  ;  which  ended,  logi 
cally  enough,  in  saying  that  to  think  is  to  feel — penser  c'est 
sentir. 

It  is  to  Hobbes  that  the  merit  is  due  of  a  discovery  which, 
though  so  familiar  to  us  now  as  to  appear  self-evident,  was  yet 
in  truth  a  most  important  discovery,  and  was  adopted  by  Des 
cartes  in  his  Meditations* — it  is  that  our  sensations  -do  not  cor 
respond  with  any  external  qualities;  that  what  are  called  sen- 

*  Descartes  may  possibly  have  discovered  it  for  himself;  but  the  priority 
of  publication  is  at  any  rate  due  to  Hobbes— a  fact  firsi  noticed,  we  believe, 
by  Mr.  Ilallum  :  Literature  of  Europe,  iiL  271. 


HOBBES.  499 

sible  qualities  are  nothing  but  modifications  of  the  sentient 
being : 

"  Because  the  image  in  vision,  consisting  of  color  and  shape, 
is  the  knowledge  we  have  of  the  qualities  of  the  object  of  that 
sense ;  it  is  no  hard  matter  for  a  man  to  fall  into  this  opinion 
that  the  same  color  and  shape  are  the  very  qualities  themselves; 
and  for  the  same  cause  that  sound  and  noise  are  the  qualities  of 
the  bell  or  of  the  air.  And  this  opinion  hath  been  so  long  re 
ceived  that  the  contrary  must  needs  appear  a  great  paradox ; 
and  yet  the  introduction  of  species  visible  and  intelligible  (which 
is  necessary  for  the  maintenance  of  that  opinion)  passing  to  and 
fro  from  the  object  is  worse  than  any  paradox,  as  being  a  plain 
impossibility.  I  shall  therefore  endeavor  to  make  plain  these 
points  : 

"  That  the  subject  wherein  color  and  image  are  inherent,  is  not 
the  object  or  thing  seen. 

"  That  there  is  nothing  without  us  (really)  which  we  call  an 
image  or  color. 

"That  the  said  image  or  color  is  but  an  apparition  unto  us  of 
the  motion,  agitation,  or  alteration  which  the  object  worketh  in  the 
brain,  or  spirits,  or  some  internal  substance  of  the  head. 

"  That  as  in  vision,  so  also  in  conceptions  that  arise  from  the 
other  senses,  the  subject  of  their  inference  is  not  the  object,  but 
the  sentient." 

This  important  principle,  which  Carneades  among  the  ancients 
alone  seems  to  have  suspected,  Hobbes  has  very  clearly  and  con 
clusively  illustrated. 

Sense  furnishes  us  with  conceptions ;  but  as  there  are  other 
operations  of  the  mind  besides  the  conceptive,  it  remains  to  be 
seen  how  sense  can  also  be  the  original  of  them. 

And  first,  of  Imagination.  Mr.  Hallam  has  noticed  the  acute- 
ness  and  originality  which  often  characterize  Hobbes's  remarks ; 
and  he  instances  the  opening  of  the  chapter  on  Imagination  in 
the  Leviathan.  It  is  worth  quoting : — "  That  when  a  thing  lies 
still,  unless  somewhat  else  stir  it,  it  will  lie  still  forever,  is  a  truth 


500  HOBBES. 

no  one  doubts  of.  But  that  when  a  thing'  is  in  motion  it  will 
eternally  be  in  motion,  unless  somewhat  else  stay  it,  though  the 
reason  be  the  same,  namely  that  nothing  can  change  itself,  is  not 
so  easily  assented  to.  For  men  measure  not  only  other  men  but 
all  other  things  by  themselves ;  and,  because  they  find  them 
selves  subject  after  motion  to  pain  and  lassitude,  think  ^every 
thing  else  grows  weary  of  motion,  and  seeks  repose  of  its  own 
accord ;  little  considering  whether  it  be  not  some  other  motion 
wherein  that  desire  of  rest,  they  find  in  themselves,  consisteth." 
Imagination  Hobbes  defines  as  a  "  conception  remaining  and  by 
little  and  little  decaying  from  and  after  the  act  of  sense."  .  .  . 
"Imagination,  therefore,  is  but  decaying  sense"  The  reader  must 
not  here  understand  by  imagination  any  thing  more  than  the  re 
taining  of  an  image  of  the  object,  after  the  object  is  removed.  It 
is  the  term  used  by  Hobbes  to  express  what  James  Mill  happily 
called  Ideation.  Sense,  Sensation ;  ideas,  Ideation.  Hobbes 
says,  sense,  Sensation ;  images,  Imagination. 

The  materialism  of  Hobbes's  theory  does  not  consist  merely  in 
his  language  (as  is  the  case  with  some  philosophers — Locke,  for 
instance) ;  it  lies  at  the  very  root  of  the  theory.  Thus,  he  says, 
we  have  sensations  and  we  have  images — ideas.  Whence  those 
images  ?  "  When  a  body  is  once  in  motion  it  moveth,  unless 
something  hinder  it,  eternally;  and  whatsoever  hindereth  it,  can 
not  in  an  instant,  but  in  time  and  by  degrees,  quite  extinguish 
it ;  and  as  we  see  in  the  water,  though  the  wind  cease,  the  waves 
give  not  over  rolling  for  a  long  time  after :  so  also  it  happeneth 
in  that  motion  which  is  made  in  the  internal  parts  of  man  ;  then, 
when  he  sees,  dreams,  etc.  For  after  the  object  is  removed,  or 
the  eye  shut,  we  still  retain  an  image  of  the  thing  seen,  though 
more  obscure  than  when  we  see  it.  ...  The  decay  of  sense  in 
men  waking  is  not  the  decay  of  the  motion  made  in  sense,  but 
an  obscuring  of  it,  in  such  manner  as  the  light  of  the  sun  ob- 
scureth  the  light  of  the  stars ;  which  stars  do  no  less  exercise 
their  virtue,  by  which  they  are  visible,  in  the  day  than  in  the 
night.  But  becaus'e  amongst  many  strokes  which  our  eyes,  ears, 


HOBBES.  501 

and  other  organs  receive  from  external  bodies,  the  predominant 
only  is  sensible ;  therefore  the  light  of  the  sun  being  predomi 
nant,  we  are  not  affected  with  the  action  of  the  stars."  This  illus 
tration  is  very  happy  ;  but  it  only  serves  to  bring  out  into 
stronger  relief  the  materialism  of  the  theory.  He  has  told  us 
what  Imagination  is;  let  us  now  learn  what  is  Memory.  "This 
decaying  sense,  when  we  would  express  the  thing  itself,  I  mean 
fancy  itself,  we  call  imagination,  as  I  have  said  before  ;  but  when 
we  would  express  the  decay,  and  signify  that  the  sense  is  fading, 
old,  and  past,  it  is  called  memory.  So  that  imagination  and 
memory  are  but  one  thing,  which  for  divers  considerations  hath 
divers  names."  Mr.  Hallam  objects  to  this,  and  says  that  it  is 
very  evident  that  imagination  and  memory  are  distinguished  by 
something  more  than  their  names.  Truly,  by  us ;  but  not  by 
Hobbes ;  he  evidently  uses  the  word  imagination  in  a  more  ge- 
nerical  sense  than  we  use  it :  he  means  by  it  Ideation.  Thus  he 
calls  dreams  "  the  imagination  of  them  that  sleep."  It  is  that 
state  of  the  mind  which  remains  when  the  objects  which  agitated 
it  by  sensations  are  removed  :  the  mind  is  then  not  so  agitated, 
but  neither  is  it  calm ;  and  he  compares  that  state  to  the  gentle 
rollino*  of  the  waves  after  the  wind  hath  ceased. 

O 

Let  this  be  distinctly  borne  in  mind :  Hobbes  sees  nothing  in 
the  intellect  but  what  was  previously  in  the  sense.  Sensations, 
and  the  traces  which  they  leave  (i.  e.  images),  form  the  simple 
elements  of  all  knowledge  ;  the  various  commixtures  of  these  ele 
ments  form  the  various  intellectual  faculties.  We  may  now  open 
at  the  third  chapter  of  the  Leviathan.  In  it  he  propounded,  as 
something  quite  simple  and  obvious,  the  very  important  law  of 
association  of  ideas.*  He  states  it  with  great  clearness  and 
thorough  mastery,  though  he  evidently  was  quite  unaware  of  its 
extensive  application. 

"  When  a  man  thinketh,"  he  says,  "  on  any  thing  whatsoever, 
his  next  thought  after  is  not  altogether  so  casual  as  it  seems  to 

*  See  Sir  \V.  Hamilton's  Dissertation  affixed  to  Reid's  Works,  p.  898,  for 
a  history  of  this  law  of  association. 


502  HOBBES. 

be.  Not  every  thought  to  every  thought  succeeds  indifferently. 
But  as  we  have  no  imagination  whereof  we  have  not  formerly 
had  sense  in  whole  or  in  parts,  so  we  have  no  transition  from 
one  imagination  to  another  whereof  we  never  had  the  like  before 
in  our  senses.  The  reason  whereof  is  this :  all  fancies  (i.  e.  im 
ages)  are  motions  within  us,  relicts  of  those  made  in  sense  ;  and 
those  motions  that  immediately  succeed  one  another  in  the  sense 
continue  also  together  after  the  sense ;  insomuch  as  the  former 
coining  again  to  take  place  and  be  predominant,  the  latter  fol- 
loweth  by  coherence  of  the  matter  moved,  in  such  manner  as 
water  upon  a  plain  table  is  drawn  which  way  any  one  part  of  it 
is  guided  by  the  finger." 

The  materialism  here  is  distinct  enough.  He  continues,  in 
excellent  style  :  "This  train  of  thoughts,  or  mental  discourse,  is 
of  two  sorts.  The  first  is  unguided,  without  design,  and  incon 
stant,  wherein  there  is  no  passionate  thought  to  govern  and  di 
rect  those  that  follow  to  itself,  as  the  end  and  scope  of  some 
desire  or  other  passion ;  in  which  case  the  thoughts  are  said  to 
wander,  and  seem  impertinent  one  to  another,  as  in  a  dream. 
Such  are  commonly  the  thoughts  of  men  that  are  not  only  with 
out  company,  but  also  without  care  of  any  thing ;  though  even 
then  their  thoughts  are  as  busy  as  at  other  times,  but  without 
harmony ;  as  the  sound  which  a  lute  out  of  tune  would  yield  to 
any  man ;  or  in  tune,  to  one  that  could  not  play.  And  yet  in 
this  wild  ranging  of  the  mind,  a  man  may  ofttimes  perceive  the 
way  of  it,  and  the  dependence  of  one  thought  upon  another. 
For  in  a  discourse  of  our  present  civil  war,  what  would  seem  more 
impertinent  than  to  ask,  as  one  did,  what  was  the  value  of  a 
Roman  penny  ?  Yet  the  coherence  to  me  was  manifest  enough. 
For  the  thought  of  the  war  introduced  the  thought  of  delivering 
up  the  King  to  his  enemies ;  the  thought  of  that  brought  in  the 
thought  of  the  delivering  up  of  Christ;  and  that  again  the 
thought  of  the  thirty  pence,  which  was  the  price  of  that  treason  ; 
and  thence  easily  followed  that  malicious  question,  and  all  this 
in  a  moment  of  time ;  for  thought  is  quick." 


HOBBES.  503 

"  For  thought  is  quick."  This  is  the  simple  pregnant  com 
ment,  justly  deemed  sufficient.  It  is  no  purpose  of  this  history 
to  dwell  upon  literary  merits ;  "but  the  style,"  as  Buffon  says, 
"is  the  man,"*  and  occasionally  we  are  forced  to  notice  it.  The 
plain  direct  remark  with  which  Hobbes  concludes  the  above 
passage,  would,  in  the  hands  of  many  moderns,  have  run  some 
what  thus:  "How  wonderful  is  thought!  how  mighty!  how 
mysterious!  In  its  lightning  speed  it  traverses  all  space,  and 
makes  the  past  present."  Hobbes,  with  a  few  simple,  direct 
words,  produces  a  greater  impression  than  would  all  the  swelling 
pomp  of  a  passage  bristling  with  notes  of  exclamation.  This  is 
the  secret  of  his  style.  It  is  also  the  characteristic  of  his  specula 
tions.  Whatever  faults  they  may  have,  they  have  no  vagueness, 
no  pretended  profundity.  As  much  of  the  truth  as  he  has 
clearly  seen  he  clearly  exhibits :  what  he  has  not  seen  he  does 
not  pretend  to  see. 

One  important  deduction  from  his  principles  he  has  drawn : 
."  Whatsoever  we  imagine  is  finite.  Therefore  there  is  no  idea, 
no  conception  of  any  thing  we  call  infinite.  No  man  can  have 
in  his  mind  an  image  of  infinite  magnitude,  nor  conceive  infinite 
swiftness,  infinite  time,  or  infinite  power.  When  we  say  that 
any  thing  is  infinite,  we  signify  only  that  we  are  not  able  to  con 
ceive  the  ends  and  bounds  of  the  thing  named,  having  no  con 
ception  of  the  thing,  but  of  our  own  inability.  And  therefore 
the  name  of  God  is  used  not  to  make  us  conceive  him,  for  he  is 
incomprehensible,  and  his  greatness  and  power  are  inconceivable, 
but  that  we  may  honor  him.  Also,  because  whatsoever  we  con- 

*  I  leave  this  passage  as  it  originally  stood,  for  the  sake  of  correcting  a 
universal  error.  I  have  since  detected  it  to  be  an  error  by  the  simple  pro 
cess  of  reading  Buffon's  actual  words,  which  some  French  writer  misquoted 
from  memory,  and  which  thousands  have  repeated  without  misgiving,  al 
though  the  phrase  is  an  absurdity.  The  phrase  occurs  in  Buffon's  Discours 
de  Reception  a  VAcademie,  where  speaking  of  style  as  that  alone  capable  of 
conferring  immortality  on  works,  because  the  matter  was  prepared  by  pre 
ceding  ages,  and  must  soon  become  common  property,  whereas  style  re 
mains  a  part  of  the  man  himself;  he  adds,  "  Ces  choses  sont  hors  de  Vkomme ; 
le  style  est  de  Vkomme  meme."  There  is  immense  difference  between  saying 
le  style  c'est  Vhomme,  and  le  style  est  de  Vhomme. 


504:  HOBBES. 

ceive  has  been  perceived  first  by  sense,  either  all  at  once  or  by 
parts,  a  man  can  have  no  thought  representing  any  thing  not  sub 
ject  to  Sense" 

This  is  frank,  but  is  it  true  ?  On  Hobbes's  principles  it  is  irre 
sistible.  His  error  lies  in  assuming  that  all  our  thoughts  must 
be  images.  So  far  is  this  from  being-  true,  that  not  even  all  our 
sensations  are  capable  of  forming  images.  "What  images  are 
given  by  the  sensations  of  heat  or  cold,  of  music  or  of  taste? 

Every  man's  consciousness  will  assure  him  that  thoughts  are 
not  always  images.  It  will  also  assure  him  that  he  has  the  idea, 
notion,  conception,  figment  (or  whatever  name  he  may  give  the 
thought)  of  Infinity.  If  he  attempts  to  form  an  image  of  it, 
that  image  will  of  course  be  finite  :  it  would  not  otherwise  be  an 
image.  But  he  can  think  of  it ;  he  can  reason  of  it.  It  is  a 
thought.  It  is  in  his  mind ;  though  how  it  got  there  may  be  a 
question.  The  incompleteness  of  Hobbes's  psychology  lies  in 
the  inability  to  answer  this  question.  If  the  maxim  he  adopts 
be  true,  nihil  est  in  intellectu  quod  non  prius  fuerit  in  sensu,  the 
question  is  insoluble ;  or  rather  the  question  itself  is  a  practical 
refutation  of  the  maxim. 

We  insist  upon  Hobbes's  materialism,  the  better  to  prepare  the 
reader  for  a  correct  appreciation  of  Locke,  one  of  the  most 
misrepresented  of  plain  writers.  Hobbes,  in  the  sixth  chapter 
of  his  Human  Nature,  has  very  carefully  defined  what  he  means 
by  knowledge.  "There  is  a  story  somewhere,"  he  says,  "of  one 
that  pretends  to  have  been  miraculously  cured  of  blindness, 
wherewith  he  was  born,  by  St.  Alban  or  other  saints,  at  the 
town  of  St.  Albans ;  and  that  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  being 
there,  to  be  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  the  miracle,  asked  the  man, 
What  color  is  this  ?  who,  by  answering  it  was  green,  discovered 
himself,  and  was  punished  for  a  counterfeit :  for  though  by  his 
sight  newly  received  he  might  distinguish  between  green  and 
red  and  all  other  colors,  as  well  as  any  that  should  interrogate 
him,  yet  he  could  not  possibly  know,  at  first  sight,  which  of  them 
was  called  green,  or  red,  or  by  any  other  name. 


HOBBES.  505 

"  By  this  we  may  understand  there  be  two  kinds  of  knowl 
edge,  whereof  the  one  is  nothing  else  but  sense,  or  knowledge 
original,  and  remembrance  of  the  same;  the  other  is  called 
science,  or  knowledge  of  the  truth  of  propositions,  and  how  things 
are  called,  and  is  derived  from  understanding.  Both  of  these 
sorts  are  but  experience  ;  the  former  being  the  experience  of  the 
effects  of  things  that  work  upon  us  from  without ;  and  the  latter 
experience  men  have  from  the  proper  use  of  names  in  language : 
and  all  experience  being,  as  I  have  said,  but  remembrance,  all 
knowledge  is  remembrance." 

The  only  ambiguity  possible  in  the  above  passage  is  that  which 
might  arise  from  the  use  of  the  word  understanding.  This  he 
elsewhere  defines  as  follows : 

"  When  a  man,  upon  the  hearing  of  any  speech,  hath  those 
thoughts  which  the  words  of  that  speech  in  their  connection 
were  ordained  and  constituted  to  signify,  then  he  is  said  to  un 
derstand  it;  understanding  being  nothing  else  but  conception 
formed  by  speech." 

We  must  content  ourselves  with  merely  alluding  to  his  admi 
rable  observations  on  language,  and  with  quoting,  for  the  hun 
dredth  time,  his  weighty  aphorism,  "  Words  are  wise  men's  coun 
ters  ;  they  do  but  reckon  by  them ;  but  they  are  the  money  of 
fools." 

No  attempt  is  here  made  to  do  full  justice  to  Hobbes;  no 
notice  can  be  taken  of  the  speculations  which  made  him  famous. 
Our  object  has  been  fulfilled  if  we  have  made  clear  to  the  reader 
the  position  Hobbes  occupies  in  modern  psychological  specu 
lation. 

22 


CHAPTER    II. 
LOCKE. 

§  I.  LIFE  OF  LOCKE. 

JOHN  LOCKE,  one  of  the  wisest  of  Englishmen,  was  born  at 
Urington,  in  Somersetshire,  on  the  29th  of  August,  1632.  Little 
is  known  of  his  family,  except  that  his  father  had  served  in  the 
Parliamentary  wars ;  a  fact  not  without  significance  in  connection 
with  the  steady  love  of  liberty  manifested  by  the  son. 

His  education  began  at  Westminster,  where  he  stayed  till  he 
was  nineteen  or  twenty.  He  was  then  sent  to  Oxford.  That 
"University  was  distinguished  then,  as  it  has  ever  been,  by  its 
attachment  to  whatever  is  old  :  the  Past  is  its  model ;  the  Past 
has  its  affection.  That  there  is  much  good  in  this  veneration  for 
the  Past,  a  few  will  gainsay.  Nevertheless,  a  University  which 
piqued  itself  on  being  behind  the  age,  was  scarcely  the  fit  place 
for  an  original  thinker.  Locke  was  ill  at  ease  there.  The  phi 
losophy  upheld  there  was  Scholasticism.  On  such  food  a  mind 
like  his  could  not  nourish  itself.  Like  his  great  predecessor 
Bacon,  he  imbibed  a  profound  contempt  for  the  University 
studies,  and  in  after-life  regretted  that  so  much  of  his  time 
should  have  been  wasted  on  such  profitless  pursuits.  So  deeply 
convinced  was  he  of  the  vicious  method  of  college  education, 
that  he  ran  into  the  other  extreme,  and  thought  self-education 
the  best.  There  is  a  mixture  of  truth  and  error  in  this  notion. 
It  is  true  that  all  great  men  have  been  mainly  self-taught ;  all 
that  is  most  valuable  a  man  must  learn  for  himself,  must  work 
out  for  himself.  The  error  of  Locke's  position  is  the  assumption 
that  all  men  will  educate  themselves  if  left  to  themselves.  The 
fact  is,  the  majority  have  to  be  educated  by  force.  For  those 


LIFE    OF    LOCKE.  507 

who,  if  left  to  themselves,  would  never  educate  themselves,  col 
leges  and  schools  are  indispensable. 

Locke's  notion  of  an  educated  man  is  very  characteristic  of 
him.  Writing  to  Lord  Peterborough,  he  says,  "Your  Lordship 
would  have  your  son's  tutor  a  thorough  scholar,  and  I  think  it 
not  much  matter  whether  he  be  any  scholar  or  no  :  if  he  but 
understand  Latin  well  and  have  a  general  scheme  of  the  sciences, 
I  think  that  enough.  But  I  would  have  him  well-bred  and 
well-tempered." 

Disgusted  with  the  disputes  which  usurped  the  title  of  Phi 
losophy,  Locke  principally  devoted  himself  to  Medicine  while  at 
Oxford.  His  proficiency  is  attested  by  two  very  different  per 
sons,  and  in  two  very  different  ways.  Dr.  Sydenharn,  in  the 
Dedication  of  his  Observations  on  the  History  and  Cure  of 
Acute  Diseases,  boasts  of  the  approbation  bestowed  on  his 
Method  by  Mr.  John  Locke,  "  who  examined  it  to  the  bottom ; 
and  who,  if  we  consider  his  genius  and  penetrating  and  exact 
judgment,  has  scarce  any  superior,  and  few  equals  now  living." 
The  second  testimony  is  that  afforded  by  Lord  Shaftesbury, 
when  Locke  first  met  him.  The  Earl  was  suffering  from  an 
abscess  in  the  chest.  No  one  could  discover  the  nature  of  his 
disorder.  Locke  at  once  divined  it.  The  Earl  followed  his  ad 
vice,  submitted  to  an  operation,  and  was  saved.  A  close  inti 
macy  sprang  up  between  them.  Locke  accompanied  him  to 
London,  and  resided  principally  in  his  house. 

His  attention  was  thus  turned  to  politics.  His  visits  to  Hol 
land  delighted  him.  •"  The  blessings  which  the  people  there  en 
joyed  under  a  government  peculiarly  favorable  to  civil  and 
religious  liberty,  amply  compensated,  in  his  view,  for  what  their 
uninviting  territory  wanted  in  scenery  and  climate."*  He  also 
visited  France  and  Germany,  making  the  acquaintance  of  several 
distinguished  men. 

In  1670  he  planned  his  Essay  concerning  Human  Understand- 

*  Dugald  Stewart. 


508  LOCKE. 

ing.  This  he  did  not  complete  till  1687.  In  1675  the  delicate 
state  of  his  health  'obliged  him  to  travel,  and  he  repaired  to  the 
south  of  France,  where  he  met  Lord  Pembroke.  To  him  the 
Essay  is  dedicated.  He  returned  in  1679,  and  resumed  his 
studies  at  Oxford.  But  his  friendship  for  Shaftesbury,  and  the 
liberal  opinions  he  was  known  to  hold,  drew  upon  him  the  dis 
pleasure  of  the  Court.  He  was  deprived  of  his  studentship  by 
a  very  arbitrary  act.*  Nor  did  persecution  stop  there.  He  was 
soon  forced  to  quit  England,  and  find  refuge  at  the  Hague. 
There  also  the  anger  of  the  king  pursued  him,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  retreat  further  into  Holland.  It  was  there  he  pub 
lished  his  celebrated  Letter  on  Toleration. 

He  did  not  return  to  England  till  after  the  Revolution.  Then 
there  was  security  and  welcome.  He  was  pressed  to  accept  a 
high  diplomatic  office  in  Germany,  but  the  state  of  his  health 
prevented  him.  In  1690  the  first  edition  of  his  Essay  appeared. 
He  had  indeed  already  (1688)  published  an  abridgment  of  it  in 
Leclerc's  Bibliotheque  Universelle.  The  success  of  this  Essay 
was  immense ;  and  Warburton's  assertion  to  the  contrary  falls 
to  the  ground  on  the  mere  statement  of  the  number  of  editions 
which  the  work  rapidly  went  through.  Six  editions  within  four 
teen  years,f  and  in  times  when  books  sold  more  slowly  than  they 
sell  now,  is  evidence  enough. 

The  publication  of  his  Essay  roused  great  opposition.  He 
soon  got  involved  in  the  discussions  with  Stillingfleet,  Bishop  of 
Worcester.  He  was  soon  after  engaged  in  the  political  discus 
sions  of  the  day,  and  published  his  Treatise  on  Government.  It 
was  about  this  time  that  he  became  acquainted  with  Sir  Isaac 

*  See  Macaulay,  History  of  England,  i.  545-G. 

t  The  writer  of  the  article  Locke,  in  the  Ency.  Brit.,  says  that  the  fourth 
edition  appeared  in  1700.  Victor  Cousin  repeats  the  statement,  and  adds 
that  a  fifth  edition  was  preparing  when  death  overtook  the  author ;  this 
fifth  edition  appearing  in  1705.  We  know  not  on  what  authority  these 
writers  speak ;  but  that  they  are  in  error  may  be  seen  by  turning  to  Locke's 
Epistle  to  the  Reader,  the  last  paragraph  of  which  announces  that  the  edition 
then  issued  by  Locke  himself  is  the  sixth. 


509 

Newton ;  and  a  portion  of  their  very  interesting  correspondence 
has  been  given  by  Lord  King  in  his  Life  of  Locke. 

Locke's  health,  though  always  delicate,  had  not  been  disturbed 
by  any  imprudences,  so  that  he  reached  the  age  of  seventy-two 
— a  good  ripe  age  for  one  who  had  studied  and  thought.  He 
expired  in  the  arms  of  his  friend,  Lady  Masham,  on  the  28th  of 
October,  1704. 

§  II.  ON  THE  SPIRIT  OF  LOCKE'S  WRITINGS. 

It  has  for  many  years  been  the  fashion  to  decry  Locke.  In 
direct  sneers  at  his  "  superficiality "  abound  in  the  writings  of 
those  who,  because  their  thought  is  so  muddy  that  they  cannot 
see  its  shallow  bottom,  fancy  they  are  profound.  Locke's  "  ma 
terialism  "  is  also  a  favorite  subject  of  condolence  with  these 
writers  ;  and  they  assert  that  his  principles  "  lead  to  atheism." 
Lead  whom  ? 

Another  mode  of  undervaluing  Locke  is  to  assert  that  he  only 
borrowed  and  popularized  the  ideas  originated  by  Hobbes.  The 
late  Mr.  Hazlitt — an  acute  thinker,  and  a  metaphysician,  but  a 
wilful  reckless  writer — deliberately  asserted  that  Locke  owed 
every  thing  to  Hobbes.  Dr.  Whewell  repeats  the  charge,  though 
in  a  more  qualified  manner.  He  says,  "  Hobbes  had  already 
promulgated  the  main  doctrines,  which  Locke  afterwards  urged, 
on  the  subject  of  the  origin  and  nature  of  our  knowledge." 

Again,  "  Locke  owed  his  authority  mainly  to  the  intellectual 
circumstances  of  the  time.  Although  a  writer  of  great  merit, 
he  by  no  means  possesses  such  metaphysical  acuteness,  or  such 
philosophical  largeness  of  view,  or  such  a  charm  of  writing,  as 
to  give  him  the  high  place  he  has  held  in  the  literature  of 
Europe." 

That  Locke  did  not  borrow  his  ideas  from  Hobbes  will  be  very 
apparent  in  our  exposition  of  Locke ;  but  meanwhile  we  may 
quote  the  testimony  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  one  of  the  best 
read  of  our  philosophers,  and  one  intimately  acquainted  with 
both  these  thinkers  : — 


510  LOCKE. 

"  Locke  and  Hobbes  agree  chiefly  on  those  points  in  which, 
except  the  Cartesians,  all  the  speculators  of  their  age  were  agreed. 
They  differ  on  the  most  momentous  questions — the  sources  of 
knowledge,  the  power  of  abstraction,  the  nature  of  the  will ;  on 
the  two  last  of  which  subjects,  Locke,  by  his  very  failures  them 
selves,  evinces  a  strong  repugnance  to  the  doctrine  of  Hobbes. 
They  differ  not  only  in  their  premises  and  many  of  their  con 
clusions,  but  in  their  manner  of  philosophizing  itself.  Locke 
had  no  prejudice  which  could  lead  him  to  imbibe  doctrines  from 
the  enemy  of  liberty  and  religion.  His  style,  with  all  its  faults, 
is  that  of  a  man  who  thinks  for  himself;  and  an  original  style 
is  not  usually  the  vehicle  of  borrowed  opinions."  * 

To  this  passage  we  will  add  another  from  a  still  more  distin 
guished  judge : 

"  Few  among  the  great  names  in  philosophy  have  met  with  a 
harder  measure  of  justice  from  the  present  generation  than 
Locke,  the  unquestioned  founder  of  the  analytic  philosophy  of 
mind,  but  whose  doctrines  were  first  caricatured,  then,  when  the 
reaction  arrived,  cast  off  by  the  prevailing  school  even  with  con 
tumely,  and  who  is  now  regarded  by  one  of  the  conflicting  parties 
in  philosophy  as  an  apostle  of  heresy  and  sophistry ;  while 
among  those  who  still  adhere  to  the  standard  which  he  raised, 
there  has  been  a  disposition  in  later  times  to  sacrifice  his  repu 
tation  in  favor  of  Hobbes — a  great  writer  and  a  great  thinker 
for  his  time,  but  inferior  to  Locke  not  only  in  sober  judgment, 
but  even  in  profundity  and  original  genius.  Locke,  the  most 
candid  of  philosophers,  and  one  whose  speculations  bear  on  every 
subject  the  strongest  mark  of  having  been  wrought  out  from 
the  materials  of  his  own  mind,  has  been  mistaken  for  an  un 
worthy  plagiarist,  while  Hobbes  has  been  extolled  as  having  an 
ticipated  many  of  his  leading  doctrines.  He  did  not  anticipate 
many  of  them,  and  the  present  is  an  instance  in  what  manner 
it  was  generally  done.  [The  writer  is  speaking  of  Lockers  refu- 

*  Edinburgh  Review  for  October,  1821,  p.  242. 


511 

tation  of  Essences.']  They  both  rejected  the  scholastic  doctrine 
of  Essences,  but  Locke  understood  and  explained  what  these 
supposed  essences  were.  Hobbes,  instead  of  explaining  the  dis 
tinction  between  essential  and  accidental  properties,  and  between 
essential  and  accidental  propositions,  jumped  over  it,  and  gave  a 
definition  which  suits,  at  most,  only  essential  propositions,  and 
scarcely  those,  as  the  definition  of  Proposition  in  general."* 

Dugald  Stewart  indeed  says,  "  that  it  must  appear  evident 
Locke  had  diligently  studied  the  writings  of  Hobbes ;"  but  Sir 
J.  Mackintosh,  as  quoted  above,  has  explained  why  Locke  appears 
to  have  studied  Hobbes  ;  and  Stewart  is  far  from  implying  that 
Locke  therefore  gained  his  principal  ideas  from  Hobbes.  In 
deed  he  has  an  admirable  note  in  which  he  points  out  how 
completely  Locke's  own  was  the  important  principle  of  Re 
flection.  "  This  was  not  merely  a  step  beyond  Hobbes,  but  the 
correction  of  an  error  which  lies  at  the  very  root  of  Hobbes' s 
system."f 

That  Locke  never  read  Hobbes  may  seem  incredible,  but  is, 
we  are  convinced,  the  truth.  It  is  one  among  many  examples 
of  how  few  were  the  books  he  had  read.  He  never  alludes  to 
Hobbes  in  any  way  that  can  be  interpreted  into  having  read  him. 
Twice  only,  we  believe,  does  he  allude  to  him,  and  then  so  dis 
tantly,  and  with  such  impropriety,  as  to  be  almost  convincing 
with  respect  to  his  ignorance.  The  first  time  is  in  his  Reply  to 
the  Bishop  of  Worcester,  in  which  he  absurdly  classes  Hobbes 
and  Spinoza  together.  He  says,  "I  am  not  so  well  read  in 
Hobbes  and  Spinoza  as  to  be  able  to  say  what  were -their 
opinions  on  this  matter,  but  possibly  there  be  those  who  will 
think  your  Lordship's  authority  of  more  use  than  those  justly 
decried  writers."  The  form  of  expression,  "  I  am  not  so  well 
read,"  etc.,  is  obviously  equivalent  to — I  have  never  read  those 
justly  decried  writers.  His  second  allusion  is  simply  this  : — 

*  Mill's  System  of  Logic,  i.  150. 

t  Dissertation  on  the  Progress  of  MetapTi.  Philosophy,  p.  235  (Hamilton's 
ed.).  The  uste  is  very  loiag  and  curious. 


512  LOCKE. 

"  A  Hobbist  would  probably  say."  We  cannot  at  present  lay 
our  hands  on  the  passage,  but  it  refers  to  some  moral  question. 

The  above  is  only  negative  evidence.  Something  like  positive 
evidence  however  is  the  fact  that  Hobbes's  doctrine  of  Association 
of  Ideas — a  principle  as  simple  of  apprehension  as  it  is  impor 
tant — was  completely  unknown  to  Locke,  who,  in  the  fourth  or 
fifth  edition,  added  the  chapter  on  association  as  it  now  stands. 
Moreover,  Locke's  statement  of  the  law  is  by  no  means  so  satis 
factory  as  that  by  Hobbes :  he  had  not  so  thoroughly  mastered 
it;  yet  had  he  read  it  in  Hobbes,  he  would  assuredly  have  im 
proved  on  it.  That  he  did  not  at  first  introduce  it  into  his  work 
is  a  strong  presumption  that  he  had  not  then  read  Hobbes,  be 
cause  the  law  is  so  simple  and  so  evident,  when  stated,  that  it 
must  produce  instantaneous  conviction. 

It  is  strange  that  any  man  should  have  read  Locke,  and  ques 
tioned  his  originality.  There  is  scarcely  a  writer  we  could  name 
whose  works  bear  such  an  indisputable  impress  of  his  having 
"  raised  himself  above  the  almsbasket,  and  not  content  to  live 
lazily  on  scraps  of  begged  opinions,  set  his  own  thoughts  to  work 
to  find  and  follow  truth."  It  is  still  more  strange  that  any  man 
should  have  read  Locke  and  questioned  his  power.  That  patient 
sagacity  which,  above  all  things,  distinguishes  a  philosopher,  is 
more  remarkable  in  Locke  than  almost  any  writer.  He  was  also 
largely  endowed  with  good  sense ;  a  quality,  Gibbon  remarks, 
which  is  rarer  than  genius.  In  these  two  qualities,  and  in  his 
homely  racy  masculine  style,  we  see  the  type  of  the  English 
mind,  when  at  its  best.  The  plain  directness  of  his  manner,  his 
earnestness  without  fanaticism,  his  hearty  honest  love  of  truth, 
and  the  depth  and  pertinence  of  his  thoughts,  are  qualities  which, 
though  they  do  not  dazzle  the  reader,  yet  win  his  love  and  respect. 
In  that  volume,  you  have  the  honest  thoughts  of  a  great  honest 
Englishman.  It  is  the  product  of  a  manly  mind :  clear,  truthful, 
direct.  No  vague  formulas — no  rhetorical  flights — no  base  flat 
tery  of  base  prejudices — no  assumption  of  oracular  wisdom — no 
word -jugglery.  There  are  so  many  writers  who  cover  their 


SPIKIT  OF  LOCKE'S  WRITINGS.  513 

vanity  with  a  veil  of  words,  who  seem  profound  because  they  are 
obscure,  that  a  plainness  like  Locke's  deceives  the  careless  reader, 
who  is  led  to  suppose  that  what  is  there  so  plain  must  have  been 
obvious. 

Locke,  though  a  patient,  cautious  thinker,  was  any  thing  but  a 
timid  thinker;  and  it  does  great  honor  to  his  sagacity,  that  at 
a  time  when  all  scientific  men  were  exclaiming  against  the  danger 
of  hypotheses,  believing  that  the  extravagant  errors  of  Schoolmen 
and  alchemists  were  owing  to  their  use  of  hypotheses — a  time 
when  the  great  Newton  himself  could  be  led  into  the  unphilo- 
sophical  boast  hypotheses  non  jingo,  our  wise  Locke  should 
exactly  appreciate  them  at  their  true  value.  He  says, — 

"  Not  that  we  may  not,  to  explain  any  phenomena  of  nature, 
make  use  of  any  probable  hypotheses  whatsoever.  Hypotheses, 
if  they  are  well  made,  are  at  least  great  helps  to  memory,  and 
often  direct  us  to  new  discoveries.  But  we  should  not  take  them 
up  too  hastily  (which  the  mind  that  would  always  penetrate  into 
the  causes  of  things,  and  have  principles  to  rest  on,  is  very  apt 
to  do)  till  we  have  very  well  examined  particulars,  and  made 
several  experiments  in  that  thing  which  we  would  explain  by 
our  hypothesis,  and  see  whether  it  will  agree  to  them  all ; 
whether  our  principles  will  carry  us  quite  through,  and  not  be  as 
inconsistent  with  one  phenomenon  of  nature  as  they  seem  to 
accommodate  and  explain  another ;  and,  at  least,  that  we  take 
care  that  the  name  of  principles  deceive  us  not  nor  impose  on  us, 
by  making  us  receive  that  for  an  unquestionable  truth  which  is 
really  at  best  but  a  very  doubtful  conjecture  :  such  as  are  most 
(I  had  almost  said  all)  of  the  hypotheses  in  natural  philosophy." 

Locke  did  not  seek  to  dazzle ;  he  sought  Truth,  and  wished  all 
men  to  accompany  him  in  the  search.  He  would  exchange  his 
opinions  with  ease  when  he  fancied  that  he  saw  their  error.  He 
readily  retracted  ideas  which  he  had  published  in  an  immature 
form ;  "  thinking  himself,"  as  he  says,  "  more  concerned  to  quit 
and  renounce  any  opinion  of  my  own  than  oppose  that  of  another, 
when  truth  appears  against  it."  He  had  a  just  and  incurable 

22* 


514:  LOCKE. 

suspicion  of  all  "great  volumes  swollen  with,  ambiguous  words." 
He  knew  how  much  jugglery  goes  on  with  words;  some  of  it 
conscious,  some  of  it  unconscious,  but  all  pernicious.  "Vague 
and  insignificant  forms  of  speech  and  abuse  of  language  have  for 
so  long  passed  for  mysteries  of  science ;  and  hard  and  misapplied 
words,  with  little  or  no  meaning,  have,  by  prescription,  such  a 
right  to  be  mistaken  for  deep  learning  and  height  of  speculation, 
that  it  will  not  be  easy  to  persuade  either  those  who  speak,  or 
those  who  hear  them,  that  they  are  but  the  covers  of  ignorance 
and  hindrance  of  true  knowledge.  To  break  in  upon  this  sanctu 
ary  of  vanity  and  ignorance  will  be,  I  suppose,  some  service  to 
the  human  understanding." 

Locke  had  an  analytical  mind.  He  desired  to  understand  and 
to  explain  things,  not  to  write  rhetorically  about  them.  There 
were  mysteries  enough  which  he  was  contented  to  let  alone  ;  he 
knew  that  human  faculties  were  limited,  and  reverentially  sub 
mitted  to  ignorance  on  all  things  beyond  his  reach.  But  though 
he  bowed  down  before  that  which  was  essentially  mysterious,  he 
was  anxious  not  to  allow  that  which  was  essentially  cognizable 
to  be  enveloped  in  mystery.  Let  that  which  is  a  mystery  remain 
undisturbed :  let  that  which  is  not  necessarily  a  mystery  be 
brought  into  the  light  of  day.  Know  the  limits  of  your  under 
standing — beyond  those  limits  it  is  madness  to  attempt  to  pene 
trate  ;  within  those  limits  it  is  folly  to  let  in  darkness  and 
mystery,  to  be  incessantly  wondering  and  always  assuming  that 
matters  cannot  be  so  plain  as  they  appear,  and  that  something 
lying  deeper  courts  our  attention. 

To  minds  otherwise  constituted — to  men  who  love  to  dwell  in 
the  vague  regions  of  speculation,  and  are  only  at  ease  in  an  intel 
lectual  twilight — Locke  is  naturally  a  disagreeable  teacher.  He 
flatters  none  of  their  prejudices;  he  falls  in  with  none  of  their 
tendencies.  Mistaking  obscurity  for  depth,  they  accuse  him  of 
being  superficial.  The  owls  declare  the  eagle  is  blind.  They 
want  the  twilight ;  he 

"  Wantons  in  the  smile  of  Jove." 


515 

They  sneer  at  his  "shallowness."  So  frequent  are  the  sneers  and 
off-hand  charges  against  him,  that  I,  who  had  read  him  in  my 
youth  with  delight,  began  to  suspect  that  my  admiration  had 
been  rash.  The  proverb  says,  "  Throw  but  mud  enough,  some 
will  be  sure  to  stick."  It  was  so  with  Locke.  Reiterated  de 
preciation  had  somewhat  defaced  his  image  in  my  mind.  The 
time  came  however  when,  for  the  purposes  of  this  history,  I  had 
to  read  the  Essay  on  Human  Understanding  once  more,  care 
fully,  pen  in  hand.  The  image  of  John  Locke  was  again  revived 
within  me ;  this  time  in  more  than  its  former  splendor.  His 
modesty,  honesty,  truthfulness,  and  directness  I  had  never  doubt 
ed  ;  but  now  the  vigor  and  originality  of  liis  mind,  the  raciness 
of  his  colloquial  style,  the  patient  analysis  by  which  he  has  laid 
open  to  us  such  vast  tracts  of  thought,  and  above  all,  the  manli 
ness  of -his  truly  practical  understanding,  are  so  strongly  impressed 
upon  me,  that  I  feel  satisfied  the  best  answer  to  his  critics  is  to 
say,  " Read  him"  From  communion  with  such  a  mind  as  his, 
nothing  but  good  can  result.  He  suggests  as  much  as  he  teaches ; 
and  it  has  been  well  said,  "  that  we  cannot  speak  of  his  Essay 
without  the  deepest  reverence;  whether  we  consider  the  era 
which  it  constitutes  in  philosophy,  the  intrinsic  value  (even  at 
the  present  day)  of  its  thoughts,  or  the  noble  devotion  to  truth, 
the  beautiful  and  touching  earnestness  and  simplicity  which  he 
not  only  manifests  in  himself,  but  has  the  power,  beyond  almost 
any  writer,  of  infusing  into  his  reader." 

§  III.  LOCKE'S  METHOD. 

"It  may  be  said  that  Locke  created  the  science  of  Meta 
physics,"  says  D'Alembert,  "  in  somewhat  the  same  way  as  New 
ton  created  Physics.  ...  To  understand  the  soul,  its  ideas  and 
its  affections,  he  did  not  study  books ;  they  would  have  misdi 
rected  him  ;  he  was  content  to  descend  within  himself,  and  after 
having,  so  to  speak,  contemplated  himself  a  long  while,  he  pre 
sented  in  his  Essay  the  mirror  in  which  he  had  seen  himself. 


516  LOCKE. 

In  one  word,  he  reduced  Metaphysics  to  that  which  it  ought  to 
be,  viz.  the  experimental  physics  of  the  mind."* 

This  is  great  praise,  and  from  high  authority,  but  we  suspect 
that  it  can  only  be  received  with  some  qualification.  Locke  made 
no  grand  discovery  which  changed  the  face  of  science.  He  was 
not  even  the  first  to  turn  his  glance  inwards.  Descartes  and 
Hobbes  had  been  before  him. 

Yet  Locke  had  his  Method;  a  Method  peculiarly  his  own. 
Others  before  him  had  cast  a  hasty  glance  inwards,  and  dogma 
tized  upon  what  they  saw.  He  was  the  first  to  watch  patiently 
the  operations  of  his  mind,  that,  watching,  he  might  surprise  the 
evanescent  thoughts,  and  steal  from  them  the  secret  of  their  com 
binations.  He  is  the  founder  of  Modern  Psychology.  By  him 
the  questions  of  Philosophy  are  boldly  and  scientifically  reduced 
to  the  primary  question  of  the  limits  of  human  understanding. 
By  him  is  begun  the  history  of  the  development  and  combination 
of  our  thoughts.  Others  had  contented  themselves  with  the 
thoughts  as  they  found  them ;  Locke  sedulously  inquired  into 
the  origin  of  all  our  thoughts. 

M.  Victor  Cousin,  who,  as  a  rhetorician,  is  in  constant  antago 
nism  to  the  clear  and  analytical  Locke,  makes  it  an  especial 
grievance  that  Locke  and  his  school  have  considered  the  ques 
tion  respecting  the  origin  of  ideas  as  fundamental.  "  It  is  from 
Locke,"  he  continues,  "that  has  been  borrowed  the  custom  of 
referring  to  savages  and  children,  upon  whom  observation  is  so 
difficult ;  for  the  one  class  we  must  trust  to  the  reports  of  travel 
lers,  often  prejudiced  and  ignorant  of  the  language  of  the  country 
visited ;  for  the  other  class  (children),  we  are  reduced  to  very 
equivocal  signs."! 

We  cannot  see  how  Locke  should  avoid  referring  to  savages 
and  children,  if  he  wanted  to  collect  facts  concerning  the  origin 
of  ideas ;  it  is  a  practice  inseparable  from  the  psychological 

*  "  En  un  mot,  il  reduisit  la  metaphysique  a  cc  qu'elle  doit  £tre,  en  effet, 
la  physique  experimentale  de  1'arne." — Discours  Prelim,  de  V Encyclopedic. 
t  Histoire  de  la  Pkilos.  17  le<;on. 


517 

Method.  Perhaps  no  source  of  error  has  been  more  abundant 
than  the  obstinacy  with  which  men  have  in  all  times  looked 
upon  their  indissoluble  associations  as  irresistible  truths — as 
primary  and  universal  truths.  A  little  analysis — a  little  observa 
tion  of  minds  removed  from  the  influences  which  fostered  those 
associations,  would  prove  that  those  associations  were  not  uni 
versal  truths,  but  simply  associations.  It  is  because  men  have 
analyzed  the  mind  in  its  cultivated  condition,  that  they  have 
been  led  to  false  results ;  had  they  compared  their  analysis  with 
that  of  an  uncultivated  mind,  they  might  have  gained  some  in 
sight.  The  objection  against  Locke's  practice  could  only  pro 
ceed  from  men  who  study  psychology  without  previous  acquaint 
ance  with  physiology — which,  though  they  do  not  know  it,  is 
the  same  as  studying  functions  without  any  knowledge  of  the 
organs.  Locke  wras  the  first  who  systematically  sought  in  the 
history  of  the  development  of  the  mind  for  answers  to  many  of 
the  fundamental  questions  of  psychology,  and  he  has  been  blamed 
for  this,  in  the  same  spirit  as  that  which  dictated  the  sneers  of 
John  Hunter's  professional  contemporaries,  because  that  admira 
ble  anatomist  sought  in  comparative  anatomy  for  elucidation  of 
many  anatomical  problems.  Now-a-days  no  well-informed  student 
is  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  Comparative  Physiology,  and  Embry 
ology,  are  our  surest  guides  in  all  biological  questions,  simply 
because  we  therein  see  the  problems  gradually  removed  from 
many  of  the  complexities  which  frustrate  our  research  in  the 
higher  and  more  completely  developed  organisms.  Locke  saw 
clearly  enough  that  the  philosophers  were  accustomed  to  con 
sider  their  minds  as  types  of  the  human  mind ;  whereas  their 
minds,  being  filled  with  false  notions  and  warped  by  prejudices, 
could  in  nowise  be  taken  as  types ;  for  even  granting  that  the 
majority  of  their  notions  were  true,  yet  these  true  notions  were 
not  portions  of  the  furniture  of  universal  minds.  He  sought  for 
illustrations  from  such  minds  as  had  not  been  so  warped. 

His  object  was  "  to  inquire  into  the  original,  certainty,  and 
extent  of  human  knowledge."     He  was  led  to  this  by  a  conver- 


518  LOCKE. 

sation  with  some  friends,  in  which,  disputes  growing  warm,  "  af 
ter  we  had  puzzled  ourselves  awhile,  without  coining  any  nearer 
a  resolution  of  those  doubts  which  perplexed  us,  it  came  into  my 
thoughts  that  we  took  a  wrong  course  ;  and  that  before  we  set 
ourselves  upon  inquiries  of  that  nature,  it  was  necessary  to  ex 
amine  our  own  abilities,  and  see  what  objects  our  understandings 
were  or  were  not  jilted  to  deal  with.91 

The  plan  he  himself  laid  down  is  as  follows: 

"  First,  I  shall  inquire  into  the  original  of  those  ideas,  notions, 
or  whatever  else  you  please  to  call  them,  which  a  man  observes 
and  is  conscious  to  himself  he  has  in  his  mind  ;  and  the  ways 
whereby  the  understanding  comes  to  be  furnished  with  them. 

"  Secondly,  I  shall  endeavor  to  show  what  knowledge  the  un 
derstanding  hath  by  those  ideas ;  and  the  certainty,  evidence, 
and  extent  of  it. 

"Thirdly,  I  shall  make  some  inquiry  into  the  nature  and 
grounds  of  faith  or  opinion ;  whereby  I  mean  that  assent  which 
we  give  to  any  proposition  as  true,  of  whose  truth  we  have  yet 
no  certain  knowledge ;  and  we  shall  have  occasion  to  examine 
the  reasons  and  degrees  of  assent." 

We  may  here  see  decisively  settled  the  question  so  often  raised 
respecting  the  importance  of  Locke's  Inquiry  into  Innate  Ideas. 
"For  Locke  and  his  school,"  says  M.  Cousin,  justly,  "the  study 
of  understanding  is  the  study  of  Ideas ;  hence  the  recent  cele 
brated  name  of  Ideology  for  the  designation  of  the  science  of 
mind."  Indeed,  as  we  have  shown,  the  origin  of  Ideas  was  the 
most  important  of  all  questions ;  upon  it  rested  the  whole  prob 
lem  of  Philosophy. 

According  to  the  origin  of  our  Ideas  may  we  assign  to  them 
their  validity.  If  they  are  of  human  growth  and  development, 
they  will  necessarily  partake  of  human  limitations.  As  Pascal 
well  says,  "  Si  rhomme  commencoit  par  s'etudier  lui-mcme,  il 
verroit  combieu  il  est  incapable  de  passer  outre.  Comment 
pourroit-il  se  faire  qu'une  partie  connut  le  tout?" 

Locke  has  given  us  a  few  indications  of  the  state  of  opinion 


519 

respecting  Innate  Ideas,  which  it  is  worth  while  collecting.  "I 
have  been  told  that  a  short  epitome  of  this  treatise,  which  was 
printed  in  1688,  was  condemned  by  some  without  reading,  be 
cause  innate  ideas  were  denied  in  it,  they  'too  hastily  concluding 
that  if  innate  ideas  were  not  supposed,  there  would  be  little  left 
either  of  the  notion  or  proof  of  spirits."  Recapitulating  the  con 
tents  of  the  chapter  devoted  to  the  refutation  of  innate  ideas,  he 
says,  "  I  know  not  how  absurd  this  may  seem  to  the  masters  of 
demonstration,  and  probably  it  will  hardly  down  with  anybody 
at  first  hearing."  And  elsewhere:  "What  censure  doubting 
thus  of  innate  principles  may  deserve  from  men,  who  will  be  apt 
to  call  it  pulling  up  the  old  foundations  of  knowledge  and  cer 
tainty,  I  cannot  tell ;  I  persuade  myself  at  least  that  the  way  I 
have  pursued,  being  conformable  to  truth,  lays  those  foundations 
surer." 

Locke's  Method  was  purely  psychological ;  although  he  had 
been  a  student  of  medicine,  he  never  indulges  in  any  physiologi 
cal  speculations,  such  as  his  successors,  Hartley  and  Darwin,  de 
lighted  in.  Ideas,  and  ideas  only,  solicited  his  analysis.  Dugald 
Stewart  has  remarked,  that  in  the  Essay  there  is  not  a  single 
passage  savoring  of  the  anatomical  theatre  or  of  the  chemical 
laboratory. 

We  have  already  spoken  of  the  positivism  of  Bacon ;  that  of 
Locke  shall  now  speak  for  itself  in  his  own  words : — "  If  by  this 
inquiry  into  the  nature  of  the  understanding  I  can  discover  the 
powers  thereof,  how  far  they  reach,  to  what  things  they  are  in 
any  degree  proportionate,  and  where  they  fail  us,  I  suppose  it 
may  be  of  use  to  prevail  with  the  busy  mind  of  man  to  be  more 
cautious  in  meddling  with  the  things  exceeding  its  comprehen 
sion,  to  stop  when  it  is  at  the  utmost  extent  of  its  tether,  and  sit 
down  in  a  quiet  ignorance  of  those  things  which  upon  examination 
are  found  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  our  capacities.  We  should 
not  then  perhaps  be  so  forward,  out  of  an  affectation  of  universal 
knowledge,  to  raise  questions  and  perplex  ourselves  and  others 
about  things  to  which  our  understandings  are  not  suited,  and  of 


520  LOCKE. 

which  we  cannot  frame  in  our  minds  any  clear  or  distinct  per 
ceptions,  or  whereof  (as  it  has  perhaps  too  often  happened)  we 
have  not  any  notions  at  all.  Men  have  reason  to  be  well  satis 
fied  with  what  God  has  thought  fit  for  them,  since  he  has  given 
them,  as  St.  Peter  says,  iravra  tfpoj  £wr,v  xcu  surfs'/Sfjav,  whatsoever 
is  necessary  for  the  convenience  of  life  and  the  information  of 
virtue ;  and  has  put  within  the  reach  of  their  discovery  the  com 
fortable  provision  for  this  life,  and  the  way  that  leads  to  a  better. 
How  short  soever  their  knowledge  may  be  of  a  universal  or  per 
fect  comprehension  of  whatever  is,  it  yet  secures  their  great  con 
cernments,  that  they  have  light  enough  to  lead  them  to  the 
knowledge  of  their  Maker  and  the  sight  of  their  own  duties. 
Men  may  find  matter  sufficient  to  busy  their  heads  and  employ 
their  hands  with  variety,  delight,  and  satisfaction,  if  they  will 
not  boldly  quarrel  with  their  own  constitutions,  and  throw  away 
the  blessings  their  hands  are  filled  with  because  they  are  not  big- 
enough  to  grasp  every  thing. 

"  We  shall  not  have  much  reason  to  complain  of  the  narrowness 
of  our  minds,  if  we  will  but  employ  them  about  what  may  be  of 
use  to  us,  for  of  that  they  are  very  capable  ;  and  it  will  be  an 
unpardonable  as  well  as  childish  peevishness,  if  we  undervalue 
the  advantages  of  our  knowledge,  and  neglect  to  improve  it  to 
the  ends  for  which  it  was  given  us,  because  there  are  some  things 
set  out  of  reach  of  it.  It  will  be  no  excuse  to  an  idle  and  unto 
ward  servant  who  would  not  attend  his  business  by  candlelight, 
to  plead  that  he  had  not  broad  sunshine.  The  candle  that  is  set 
up  within  us  shines  bright  enough  for  all  our  purposes. 

"  When  we  know  our  own  strength  we  shall  the  better  know 
what  to  undertake  with  hopes  of  success  ;*  and  when  we  have 
well  surveyed  the  powers  of  our  minds,  and  made  some  estimate 
what  we  may  expect  from  them,  we  shall  not  be  inclined  either 
to  sit  still,  and  not  set  our  thoughts  on  work  at  all,  despairing  of 

*  "  The  real  cause  and  root  of  almost  all  the  evils  in  science  is  this  :  that 
falsely  magnifying  and  extolling  the  powers  of  the  mind,  we  seek  not  its 
true  helps." — Bacon. 


521 

knowing*  any  thing;  or,  on  the  other  side,  question  every  thing, 
and  disclaim  all  knowledge  because  some  things  are  not  to  be 
understood.  It  is  of  great  use  to  the  sailor  to  know  the  length 
of  his  line,  though  he  cannot  with  it  fathom  all  the  depths  of  the 
ocean.  It  is  well  he  knows  that  it  is  long  enough  to  reach  the 
bottom  at  such  places  as  are  necessary  to  direct  his  voyage,  and 
caution  him  against  running  upon  any  shoals  that  may  ruin 
him.  .  .  .  This  was  that  which  gave  the  first  rise  to  this  Essay 
concerning  the  Understanding ;  for  I  thought  that  the  first  step 
towards  satisfying  several  inquiries  the  mind  of  man  was  very 
apt  to  run  into,  was  to  take  a  survey  of  our  own  understandings, 
and  to  see  to  what  things  they  were  adapted.  Till  that  was  done 
I  suspected  we  began  at  the  wrong  end,  and  in  vain  sought  for 
satisfaction  in  a  quiet  and  sure  possession  of  truths  that  most 
concerned  us,  whilst  we  let  loose  our  thoughts  into  the  vast 
ocean  of  being ;  as  if  that  boundless  extent  were  the  natural  and 
undoubted  possession  of  our  understandings,  wherein  there  is 
nothing  exempt  from  its  decisions,  or  that  escaped  its  compre 
hension.  Thus  men  extending  their  inquiries  beyond  their  ca 
pacities,  and  letting  their  thoughts  wander  into  those  depths  where 
they  can  find  no  sure  footing,  it  is  no  wonder  that  they  raise 
questions  and  multiply  disputes,  which,  never  coming  to  any  clear 
resolution,  are  proper  only  to  continue  and  increase  their  doubts, 
and  to  confirm  them  at  last  in  perfect  skepticism." 

The  decisive  manner  in  which  Locke  separates  himself  from 
the  ontologists  is  not  only  historically  noteworthy,  but  is  also 
noticeable  as  giving  the  tone  to  his  subsequent  speculations. 
We  have  admired  the  Portico ;  let  us  enter  the  Temple. 

§  IV.  THE  ORIGIN  OF  OUR  IDEAS. 

Hobbes  had  said,  with  Gassendi,  that  all  our  ideas  are  derived 
from  sensations  ;  nihil  est  intellectu  quod  non  prius  fiterit  in  sensu. 
Locke,  who  is  called  a  mere  popularizer  of  Hobbes,  said  that  there 
were  two  sources,  not  one  source,  and  these  two  were  SENSATION 


522  LOCKE. 

and  REFLECTION.  Separating  himself  decisively  from  the  up 
holders  of  the  doctrine  of  innate  ideas — of  truths  independent  of 
experience, — he  declared  that  all  our  knowledge  is  founded  on 
experience,  and  from  experience  it  ultimately  derives  itself. 
Separating  himself  no  less  decisively  from  the  Gassendists,  who 
saw  no  source  of  ideas  but  Sensation,  he  declared  that  although 
SENSATION  was  the  great  source  of  most  of  our  ideas,  yet  there 
was  "another  fountain  from  which  experience  furnisheth  the 
understanding  with  ideas ;"  and  this  source,  "though  it  be  not 
sense,  as  having  nothing  to  do  with  external  objects,  yet  it  is  very 
like  it,  and  might  properly  enough  be  called  internal  sense :"  this 
he  calls  REFLECTION. 

After  Dugald  Stewart's  ample  exposure  of  the  wide-spread 
error  that  Locke  was  the  chief  of  the  so-called  Sensational  School, 
we  need  spend  little  time  in  inquiring  whether  Locke  did  or  did 
not  teach  that  all  knowledge  was  referable  to  sensation.  The 
passages  which  contradict  the  vulgar  error  respecting  Locke's 
doctrine  are  numerous  and  decisive.  Dugald  Stewart  has  se 
lected  several ;  but  perhaps  the  one  we  have  quoted  above  will 
be  considered  sufficiently  explicit.  Reflection,  he  says,  "  though 
it  be  not  sense,"  may  yet  analogically  be  considered  as  an  inter 
nal  sense.  To  prevent  all  misconception,  however,  we  will  as  a 
decisive  example  refer  to  his  proof  of  the  existence  of  God,  which 
he  sums  up  by  saying,  "  It  is  plain  to  me  that  we  have  a  more 
certain  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  a  God  than  of  any  thing 
our  senses  have  not  immediately  discovered  to  us.  Nay,  I  pre 
sume  I  may  say  that  we  may  more  certainly  know  that  there  is 
a  God,  than  that  there  is  any  thing  else  without  us."  (Book  IV. 
ch.  x.)  Locke  made  the  senses  the  source  of  all  our  sensuous 
knowledge ;  our  ideal  knowledge  (so  to  speak)  he  derived  from 
Reflection. 

Historians  have  not  accorded  due  praise  to  Locke  for  the  im 
portant  advance  he  made  towards  a  solution  of  the  great  question 
on  the  origin  of  knowledge.  While  Leibnitz  has  been  lauded  to 
the  skies  for  having  expressed  Locke's  doctrine  in  an  epigram, 


THE    ORIGIN    OF    OUR   IDEAS.  5'23 

Locke  has  not  only  been  robbed  of  his  due,  but  has  been  sacri 
ficed  to  his  rival.  It  is  commonly  said,  "  Locke  reduced  all  our 
knowledge  to  Sensation :  Leibnitz  came  and  accepted  the  old 
adage  of  nihil  est  in  intellectu  quod  non  prius  fuerit  in  sensu,  but 
he  accepted  it  as  only  half  the  truth ;  and  therefore  added,  nisi 
ipse  intellectus"  Now,  firstly,  Locke  did  not  accept  the  adage 
as  the  whole  truth ;  he  said  that  Reflection  was  a  second  source 
of  ideas.  Secondly,  Dugald  Stewart  has  remarked  that  the 
addition  which  Leibnitz  made  when  he  said  there  is  nothing  in 
the  intellect  which  was  not  previously  in  the  sense,  except  the 
intellect  itself,  expresses  no  more  than  the  doctrine  of  Locke,  who 
says,  "  External  objects  furnish  the  mind  with  ideas  of  sensible 
qualities;  and  the  mind  furnishes  the  understanding  with  the 
ideas  of  its  own  operations."  Thirdly,  although  the  phrase  is 
epigrammatic,  and  thereby  has  had  such  success  in  the  world  as 
epigrams  usually  have,  it  will  not  bear  scrutiny :  few  epigrams 
will.  Except  as  a  verbal  jingle,  how  trivial  is  the  expression — 
the  intellect  in  the  intellect !  Suppose  a  man  to  say,  "  I  have  no 
money  in  my  purse,  except  my  purse  itself,"  he  would  scarcely 
be  less  absurd.  For  when  the  Schoolmen  said,  "nothing  was  in 
the  intellect  which  was  not  previously  in  the  sense,"  they  did  not 
mean  that  the  intellect  was  the  same  as  the  sense;  they  meant 
that  the  intellect  was  furnished  with  no  ideas,  notions,  or  concep 
tions  which  had  not  been  furnished  them  by  sense ;  they  meant 
that  the  senses  were  the  inlets  to  the  soul. 

Dr.  Whewell  approves  of  the  epigram ;  and  alluding  to  Mr. 
Sharpe's  objection  to  it,  viz.  that  we  cannot  say  the  intellect  is 
in  the  intellect,  he  says,  "  This  remark  is  obviously  frivolous ;  for 
the  faculties  of  the  understanding  (which  are  what  the  argument 
against  the  Sensational  School  requires  us  to  reserve)  may  be 
said  to  be  in  the  understanding  with  as  much  justice  as  we  may 
assert  that  there  are  in  it  the  impressions  derived  from  sense." 
We  submit  that  the  "faculties"  of  the  understanding  are  not 
"  all  that  must  be  reserved  for  the  argument  against  the  Sensa 
tional  School "  (if  the  Lockeists  be  meant,  and  to  them  only  did 


524  LOCKE. 

Leibnitz  address  himself),  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  faculties 
never  were  denied.*  Opponents  have  attributed  such  a  notion 
to  Locke's  school ;  no  member  of  that  school  ever  proposed  it. 
The  question  never  was,  Have  we  an  Understanding,  and  has 
that  Understanding  certain  Faculties  ?  No  ;  the  question  simply 
was — What  is  the  origin  of  our  Ideas  :  are  they  partly  innate 
and  partly  acquired,  or  are  they  wholly  acquired,  and  if  so,  is 
Sense  the  sole  inlet?  To  this  plain  question  some  replied  plainly, 
"Sense  is  the  origin  of  all  our  ideas."  Locke  replied,  "Sense 
and  Reflection  are  the  sources  of  all  our  ideas."  Leibnitz  re 
plied,  "  There  is  nothing  in  the  intellect  which  was  not  previously 
in  the  sense;  except  the  intellect  itself:"  which  latter  remark  is 
altogether  beside  the  question.  And  yet  this  remark  has  called 
forth  many  pages  of  laudatory  declamation;  pages  in  which 
Locke  is  cast  into  the  background,  and  charged  with  having 
overlooked  the  important  fact  that  man  has  an  intellect  as  well 
as  senses.  This  notion,  once  started,  continued  its  triumphant 
course.  Men  are  for  the  most  part  like  sheep,  who  always  follow 
the  bell-wether :  what  one  boldly  asserts,  another  echoes  boldly ; 
a  third  transmits  it  to  a  fourth,  and  the  assertion  becomes  con 
solidated  into  a  traditional  judgment.  Some  one  more  serious, 
or  more  independent  than  the  rest,  looks  into  the  matter,  sees 
an  error,  exposes  it ;  but  tradition  rolls  on  its  unimpeded  course. 
I  do  not  expect  to  shake  the  traditional  error  respecting  Locke ; 
I  was  bound,  however,  to  signalize  it.  Locke  does  not  derive  all 
our  knowledge  from  sensation ;  Leibnitz  has  not  made  any  ad 
dition  by  his  too  famous  nisi  ipse  intellectus.\ 

By  Sensation,  Locke  understands  the  simple  operation  of  exter- 


*  Locke  often  speaks  of  the  operations  of  the  mind  as  proceeding  from 
powers  intrinsical  and  proper  to  itself.  He  says  also  :  "  Thus  the  first  capacity 
of  human  intellect  is,  that  the  mind  is  fitted  to  receive  the  impressions  made 
on  it;  either  through  the  senses  by  outward  objects,  or  ly  its  own  operations 
when  it  reflects  on  them.'1'1 — Essay,  b.  ii.  c.  i.  §  24. 

t  Leibnitz  himself  says,  when  making  the  distinction,  "  Cela  c'accorde 
assez  avec  votre  auteur  de  1'Essai,  que  cherche  unc  bonne  partie  des  Idees 
dans  la  reflexion  de  1'esprit  sur  sa  propre  nature." — Nouveaux  Essais,  ii.  c.  i. 


THE    ORIGIN    OF    OUR    IDEAS.  525 

nal  objects  through  the  senses.  The  mind  is  herein  wholly  pas 
sive.  The  senses,  therefore,  may  be  said  to  furnish  the  mind 
with  one  portion  of  its  materials.  By  Reflection  he  understands 
that  internal  sense,  by  means  of  which  the  mind  observes  its  own 
operations.  Thj^  furnishes  the  second  and  last  portion  of  the 
materials  out  of  which  the  mind  frames  knowledge.  "  If  it  shall 
be  demanded,"  he  says,  "  when  a  man  begins  to  have  any  ideas, 
I  think  the  true  answer  is,  when  he  first  has  any  sensation.  For 
since  there  appear  not  to  be  any  ideas  in  the  mind  before  the 
senses  have  conveyed  any  in,  I  conceive  that  ideas  in  the  under 
standing  are  coeval  with  sensation."  This  is  making  a  decisive 
stand  against  the  upholders  of  innate  ideas ;  but  it  is  a  very  rude 
and  incomplete  view. 

Deeply  considered,  not  only  are  ideas  not  coeval  with  sensa 
tions,  but  sensations  themselves  are  not  coeval  with  the  opera 
tion  of  external  objects  on  our  organs.  Our  senses  have  to  be 
educated,  i.  e.  to  be  drawn  out,  developed.  We  have  to  learn  to 
see,  to  hear,  and  to  touch.  Light  strikes  on  the  infant  retina, 
waves  of  air  pulsate  on  the  infant  tympanum  :  but  these  as  yet 
produce  neither  sight  nor  hearing :  they  are  only  the  prepara 
tions  for  sight  and  hearing.  Many  hundred  repetitions  are 
necessary  before  what  we  call  a  sensation  (i.  e.  a  distinct  feeling 
corresponding  to  that  which  the  object  will  always  produce  upon 
the  developed  sense)  can  be  produced.  Many  sensations  are 
necessary  to  produce  a  perception :  a  perception  is  a  cluster  of 
sensations  with  an  ideal  element  added.  On  the  educated 
Sense  objects  act  so  as  instantaneously  to  produce  what  we  call 
their  sensations ;  on  the  uneducated  Sense  they  act  only  so  as  to 
produce  a  vague  impression,  which  becomes  more  and  more  defi 
nite  by  repetition.* 

Plato  finely  compares  the  soul  to  a  book,  of  which  the  senses 


*  See  this  growth  of  sensation  treated  in  detail  in  Beneke's  Lehrbuch 
der  Psychologie.  See  also  the  chapters  on  Hartley  and  Darwin  fur 
ther  on. 


526  LOCKE. 

are  the  scribes.*  Accepting  this  comparison,  writing  is  only  pos 
sible  after  a  series  of  tentatives ;  the  hand  must  practise,  before  it 
can  steady  itself  sufficiently  to  trace  letters ;  so  also  must  the 
senses  learn  by  repetition  to  trace  intelligible  figures  on  the 
tabula  rasa  of  the  mind.  % 

Locke  continues  his  account  of  the  origin  of  all  our  knowledge 
thus:  "In  time  the  mind  comes  to  reflect  on  its  own  operations 
about  the  ideas  got  by  sensation,  and  thereby  stores  itself  with  a 
new  set  of  ideas,  which  I  call  ideas  of  reflection.  These  are  the 
impressions  which  are  made  on  our  senses  by  outward  objects 
that  are  extrinsical  to  the  mind,  and  its  own  operations  proceed 
ing  from  powers  intrinsical  and  proper  to  itself;  which  when 
reflected  on  by  itself,  becoming  also  objects  of  its  contemplation, 
are,  as  I  have  said,  the  original  of  all  knowledge.  Thus  the  first 
capacity  of  the  human  intellect  is,  that  the  mind  is  fitted  to  re 
ceive  the  impressions  made  on  it ;  either  through  the  senses  by 
outward  objects,  or  by  its  own  operations  when  it  reflects  on 
them.  This  is  the  first  step  that  a  man  makes  towards  the  dis 
covery  of  and  the  groundwork  whereon  to  build  all  those  notions 
which  ever  he  shall  have  naturally  in  this  world.  All  those 
sublime  thoughts  which  tower  above  the  clouds,  and  reach  as 
high  as  heaven  itself,  take  their  rise  and  footing  here :  in  all  that 
good  extent  wherein  the  mind  wanders,  in  those  remote  specu 
lations  it  may  seem  to  be  elevated  with,  it  stirs  not  one  jot 
beyond  those  ideas  which  sense  or  reflection  have  offered  for  its 
contemplation." 

The  close  of  this  passage  is  an  answer  to  the  ontologists ;  not 
one,  however,  which  they  will  accept.  They  deny  that  sensation 
and  reflection  are  the  only  sources  of  materials.  But  we  will 
continue  to  hear  Locke :  "  When  the  understanding  is  once 
stored  with  these  simple  ideas,  it  has  the  power  to  repeat,  com 
pare,  and  unite  them,  even  to  an  almost  infinite  variety,  and  so 


*  Philelu*,  p,  192.    Plato's  words  are  not  given  in  the  text,  but  the 
sense  is. 


ELEMENTS  OF  IDEALISM  AND  SKEPTICISM  IN  LOCKE.     527 

can  make  at  pleasure  new  complex  ideas.  But  it  is  not  in  the 
power  of  the  most  exalted  wit,  or  enlarged  understanding,  by 
any  quickness  or  variety  of  thought,  to  invent  or  frame  one  new 
simple  idea  in  the  mind  not  taken  in  by  the  ways  aforementioned." 
This  is  very  explicit — and,  we  believe,  very  true.  If  true, 
what  becomes  of  Philosophy  ? 

§  V.   ELEMENTS  OF  IDEALISM  AND  SKEPTICISM  IN  LOCKE. 

The  passage  last  quoted  naturally  leads  us  to  consider  Locke's 
position  in  the  great  debate  carried  on  respecting  our  knowledge 
of  things  per  se. 

Can  we  know  things  as  they  are  ?  Descartes  and  his  followers 
suppose  that  we  can  :  their  criterion  is  the  clearness  and  distinct 
ness  of  ideas.  Locke  admirably  said,  "  Distinct  ideas  of  the 
several  sorts  of  bodies  that  fall  under  the  examination  of  our 
senses,  perhaps  we  may  have ;  but  adequate  ideas  I  suspect  we 
have  not  of  any  one  amongst  them."  Our  ideas,  however  clear, 
are  never  adequate ;  they  are  subjective.  But  Locke  only  went 
half-way  towards  the  conception  of  knowledge  as  purely  subjec 
tive.  He  did  not  think  that  all  our  ideas  were  images,  copies 
of  external  objects ;  but  he  expressly  taught  that  our  ideas  of 
what  he  calls  primary  qualities,  are  resemblances  of  what  really 
exist  in  bodies ;  adding,  that  "  the  ideas  produced  in  us  by  second 
ary  qualities  have  no  resemblance  of  them  at  all.  There  is 
nothing  like  our  ideas  existing  in  the  bodies  themselves.  They 
are,  in  the  bodies  we  denominate  from  them,  only  a  power  to 
produce  those  sensations  in  us." 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  last  sentence  did  not  lead  him  to  the 
conclusion  that  all  the  qualities  which  we  perceive  in  bodies  are 
but  the  powers  to  produce  sensations  in  us ;  and  that  it  is  we 
who  attribute  to  the  causes  of  these  sensations  a  form  analogous 
to  their  effects.  He  himself  warned  us  "  that  so  we  may  not 
think  (as  perhaps  usually  is  done)  that  they  (ideas)  are  exactly 
the  images  and  resemblances  of  something  inherent  in  the  subject ; 
most  of  those  of  sensation  being  in  the  mind  no  more  the  like- 


528  LOCKE. 

ness  of  something  existing  without  us,  than  the  names  that  stand 
for  them  are  likenesses  of  our  ideas,  which  yet  upon  hearing  they 
are  apt  to  excite  in  us."  And  elsewhere,  "  It  being  no  more  im 
possible  to  conceive  that  God  should  annex  such  ideas  to  such 
motions  (i.  e.  the  motions  of  objects  affecting  the  senses)  with 
ivhich  they  have  no  similitude,  than  that  he  should  annex  the 
idea  of  pain  to  the  motion  of  a  piece  of  steel  dividing  our  flesh, 
with  which  that  idea  hath  no  resemblance." 

From  these  passages  it  will  be  seen  how  clearly  Locke  under 
stood  the  subjective  nature  of  one  portion  of  our  knowledge. 
He  did  not  carry  out  the  application  of  his  principles  to  primary 
qualities,  owing,  perhaps,  to  inveterate  association  having  too 
firmly  established  the  contrary  in  his  mind.  Every  one  is  willing 
to  admit  that  color,  light,  heat,  perfume,  taste,  etc.,  are  not  qual 
ities  in  the  bodies  which  produce  in  us  those  effects,  but  simply 
conditions  of  our  sensibility,  when  placed  in  certain  relations  with 
certain  bodies.  But  few  are  willing  to  admit — indeed  only  phi 
losophers  (accustomed  as  they  are  to  undo  their  constant  associ 
ations)  can  conceive  the  primary  qualities,  viz.  extension,  solidity, 
motion,  and  number,  to  be  otherwise  than  real  qualities  of  bodies 
— copies  of  which  are  impressed  upon  us  by  the  relation  in  which 
we  stand  to  the  bodies.  And  yet  these  qualities  are  no  less  sub 
jective  than  the  former.  They  do  not  belong  at  all  to  bodies, 
except  as  powers  to  produce  in  us  the  sensations.  They  are  de- 
monstrably  as  much  the  effects  produced  in  us  by  objects,  as  the 
secondary  qualities  are ;  and  the  latter  every  one  admits  to  be 
the  effects,  and  not  copies.  Wherein  lies  the  difference  ?  wherein 
the  difficulty  of  conceiving  primary  qualities  not  to  belong  to 
bodies  ?  In  this :  the  primary  qualities  are  the  invariable  condi 
tions  of  sensation.  The  secondary  qualities  are  the  variable  con 
ditions.  We  can  have  no  perception  of  a  body  that  is  not  ex 
tended,  that  is  not  solid  (or  the  reverse),  that  is  not  simple  or 
complex  (number),  that  is  not  in  motion  or  rest.  These  are  in 
variable  conditions.  But  this  body  is  not  necessarily  of  any 
particular  color,  taste,  scent,  heat,  or  smoothness  ;  it  may  be  color- 


ELEMENTS  OF  IDEALISM  AND  SKEPTICISM  IN  LOCKE.        529 

less,  tasteless,  scentless.  These  secondary  qualities  are  all  vari 
able.  Consequently  the  one  set,  being  invariable,  have  occasioned 
indissoluble  associations  in  our  minds,  so  that  it  is  not  only  im 
possible  for  us  to  imagine  a  body,  without  at  the  same  time  im 
agining  it  as  endowed  with  these  primary  qualities;  but  also  we 
are  irresistibly  led  to  believe  that  the  bodies  we  perceive  do  cer 
tainly  possess  those  qualities  quite  independently  of  us.  Hence 
it  has  been  said  that  the  Creator  himself  could  not  make  a  body 
without  extension  :  for  such  a  body  is  impossible.  The  phrase 
should  be,  "such  a  body  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  conceive."  But 
our  indissoluble  associations  are  no  standards  of  reality. 

That  toe  cannot  conceive  body  without  extension  is  true  ;  but 
that,  because  we  cannot  conceive  it,  the  contrary  must  be  false, 
is  preposterous.  All  our  assertion  in  this  matter  can  amount  to 
is,  that  knowledge  must  be  subordinate  to  the  conditions  of  our 
nature.  These  conditions  are  not  conditions  of  things,  but  of 
our  organizations.  If  we  had  been  so  constituted  as  that  all 
bodies  should  affect  us  with  a  sensible  degree  of  warmth,  we 
should  have  been  irresistibly  led  to  conclude  that  warmth  was  a 
quality  inherent  in  body ;  but  because  warmth  varies  with  dif 
ferent  bodies  and  at  different  times,  there  is  no  indissoluble  asso 
ciation  formed.  And  so  of  the  rest. 

To  return  to  Locke  :  he  has  very  well  stated  the  nature  of 
our  knowledge  of  external  things,  though  he  excepts  primary 
qualities.  "  It  is  evident,"  he  says,  "  that  the  bulk,  figure,  and 
motion  of  several  bodies  about  us,  produce  in  us  several  sen 
sations,  as  of  colors,  sounds,  tastes,  smells,  pleasure  and  pain, 
etc.  These  mechanical  affections  of  bodies  having  no  affinity  at 
all  with  those  ideas  they  produce  in  us  (there  being  no  conceiv 
able  connection  between  any  impulse  of  any  sort  of  body 
and  any  perception  of  a  color  or  smell  which  we  find  in  our 
minds)  we  can  have  no  distinct  knowledge  of  such  operations  be 
yond  our  experience  •  and  can  reason  about  them  no  otherwise 
than  as  the  effects  produced  by  an  infinitely  wise  Agent,  which 
perfectly  surpass  our  comprehensions." 

23 


530  LOCKE. 

He  shortly  after  says,  "  The  things  that,  as  far  as  our  observa 
tion  reaches,  we  constantly  find  to  proceed  regularly,  we  may 
conclude  do  act  by  a  law  set  them  ;  but  yet  by  a  law  that  we 
know  not :  whereby,  though  causes  work  steadily,  and  effects 
constantly  flow  from  them,  yet  their  connections  and  dependencies 
being  not  discoverable  in  our  ideas,  we  can  have  but  an  experimen 
tal  knowledge  of  them?  Here  we  have  Hume's  doctrine  of 
Causation  anticipated. 

To  prove  the  subjective  nature  of  our  knowledge  is  but  one 
step  towards  the  great  question.  The  second  step,  which  it  is 
vulgarly  supposed  was  only  taken  by  Berkeley  and  Hume,  was 
also  taken  by  Locke.  Hear  him  :  "  Since  the  mind  in  all  its 
thoughts  and  reasonings  hath  no  other  immediate  object  but  its 
own  ideas,  which  it  alone  does  or  can  contemplate,  it  is  evident 
that  our  knowledge  is  only  conversant  about  them.  Knowledge, 
then,  seems  to  me  nothing  but  the  perception  of  the  connection 
and  agreement,  or  disagreement  and  repugnancy,  of  any  one  of 
our  ideas." 

This  is  the  great  stronghold  of  Idealism  and  Skepticism. 
Locke  foresaw  the  use  which  would  be  made  of  it;  and  he 
stated  the  problem  with  remarkable  precision.  *'  It  is  evident 
that  the  mind  knows  not  things  immediately,  but  only  by  the 
intervention  of  ideas  it  has  of  them.  Our  knowledge  therefore 
is  real,  only  so  far  as  there  is  a  conformity  between  our  ideas  and 
the  reality  of  things.  But  what  shall  be  here  the  criterion  ? 
How  shall  the  mind,  when  it  perceives  nothing  but  its  own  ideas, 
know  that  they  agree  with  the  things  themselves  ?" 

Thus  has  he  stated  the  problem  which  was  solved  by  Idealism 
on  the  one  hand,  and  by  Skepticism  on  the  other.  Let  us  see 
how  he  will  solve  it.  There  are  two  sorts  of  ideas,  he  says,  the 
simple  and  the  complex ;  or,  to  use  more  modern  language,  per 
ceptions  and  conceptions.  The  first  "  must  necessarily  be  the 
product  of  things  operating  on  the  mind  in  a  natural  way,  and 
producing  those  perceptions  which  by  the  wisdom  and  will  of 
our  Maker  they  are  ordained  and  adapted  to.  From  whence  it 


ELEMENTS  OF  IDEALISM  AND    SKEPTICISM  IN  LOCKE.       531 

follows  that  simple  ideas  are  not  fictions  of  our  fancies,  but  the 
natural  arid  regular  productions  of  things  without  us  really  oper 
ating  upon  us  /  and  so  carry  with  them  all  the  conformity  which 
is  intended,  or  which  our  state  requires:  for  they  represent 
things  to  its  under  those  appearances  which  they  are  fitted  to 
produce  in  us" 

This  leaves  the  question  of  Idealism  unanswered,  though  it 
cuts  the  Gordian  knot  of  Skepticism.  It  is  a  plain  and  explicit 
avowal  of  the  subjectivity  of  our  knowledge ;  of  the  impossi 
bility  of  our  ever  transcending  the  sphere  of  our  consciousness 
and  penetrating  into  the  essences  of  things.  Complex  ideas 
being  made  out  of  simple  ideas,  we  need  not  examine  their  pre 
tensions  to  infallibility.  All  human  certainty  is  therefore  only  a 
relative  certainty.  Ideas  may  be  true  for  us,  without  being  at 
all  true  when  considered  absolutely.  Such  is  Locke's  position. 
He  stands  upon  a  ledge  of  rock  between  two  yawning  abysses. 
He  will  stand  there,  and  proceed  no  further.  Why  should  he 
move  when  he  knows  that  a  single  step  will  precipitate  him 
into  some  fathomless  gulf?  No;  he  is  content  with  his  ledge 
of  rock.  "  The  notice  we  have  by  our  senses,"  he  says,  "  of  the 
existence  of  things  without  us,  though  it  be  not  altogether  so 
certain  as  our  intuitive  knowledge  or  the  deductions  of  our  rea 
son,  employed  about  the  clear,  abstract  ideas  of  our  own  minds  ; 
yet  it  is  an  assurance  that  deserves  the  name  of  knowledge.  If 
we  persuade  ourselves  that  our  faculties  act  and  inform  us  right 
concerning  the  existence  of  those  objects  that  affect  them,  it 
cannot  pass  for  an  ill-grounded  confidence ;  for  I  think  nobody 
can  in  earnest  be  so  skeptical  as  to  be  uncertain  of  the  existence 
of  those  which  he  sees  and  feels.  At  least  he  that  can  doubt 
so  far  (whatever  he  may  have  with  his  own  thoughts)  will  never 
have  any  controversy  with  me,  since  he  can  never  be  sure  I 
say  any  thing  contrary  to  his  own  opinions.  As  to  myself,  I 
think  God  has  given  me  assurance  enough  as  to  the  existence  of 
things  without  me ;  since  by  their  different  application  I  can 
produce  in  myself  both  pleasure  and  pain,  which  is  one  great 


532  LOCKE. 

concernment  of  my  present  state.  We  cannot  act  by  any  thing 
but  our  faculties ;  nor  talk  of  knowledge  but  by  the  help  of 
those  faculties  which  are  fitted  to  apprehend  even  what  knowl 
edge  is." 

Again,  anticipating  the  objection  that  "  all  we  see,  hear,  feel, 
and  taste,  think  and  do,  during  our  whole  being,  is  but  the 
series  and  deluding  appearances  of  a  long  dream,  and  therefore 
our  knowledge  of  any  thing  be  questioned  ;  I  must  desire  him  to 
consider  that  if  all  be  a  dream,  then  he  doth  but  dream  that 
makes  the  question  ;  and  so  it  is  not  much  matter  that  a  waking- 
man  should  answer  him.  But  yet,  if  he  pleases,  he  may  dream  that 
I  make  him  this  answer,  That  the  certainty  of  things  existing  in 
in  rerum  natura,  when  we  have  the  testimony  of  our  senses  for  it, 
is  not  only  as  great  as  our  frame  can  attain  to,  but  as  our  con 
dition  needs"  This  leaves  Idealism  unansAvered  ;  but  it  pro 
nounces  Skepticism  to  be  frivolous  :  "for  our  faculties,"  he  con 
tinues,  "  being  not  suited  to  the  full  extent  of  being,  nor  to  a  per 
fect,  clear,  comprehensive  knowledge  of  things  free  from  all  doubt 
and  scruple,  but  to  the  preservation  of  us,  in  whom  they  are, 
and  accommodated  to  the  use  of  life ;  they  serve  our  purpose 
well  enough,  if  they  will  but  give  us  certain  notice  of  those 
things  which  are  convenient  or  inconvenient  to  us." 

That  this  is  very  good  common-sense  every  one  will  admit. 
But  it  is  no  answer  to  Skepticism.'  Hume,  as  we  shall  see  here 
after,  proclaimed  the  very  same  opinions :  but  the  difference  be 
tween  him  and  Locke  was,  that  he  knew  such  opinions  had  no 
influence  whatever  upon  the  philosophical  question,  but  simply 
upon  the  practical  affairs  of  life ;  whereas  Locke,  contenting 
himself  with  the  practical,  disdained  to  answer  the  philosophical 
question.* 

We  may  sum  up  the  contents  of  this  Section  by  saying  that 
Locke  distinctly  enough  foresaw  the  Idealistic  and  Skeptical 

*  Dr.  Reid  conjectures  that  "  Locke  had  a  glimpse  of  the  system  which 
Berkeley  afterwards  advanced,  though  he  thought  proper  to  suppress  it 
within  his  own  breast."  Not  to  suppress,  but  to  disdain  it. 


533 

arguments  which  might  be  drawn  from  his  principles.  lie  did  not 
draw  them,  because  he  thought  them  frivolous.  Aware  that  all 
human  certitude  could  only  be  relative  certitude — that  human 
knowledge  could  never  embrace  the  nature  of  things,  but  only 
the  nature  of  their  effects  on  us — he  was  content  with  that 
amount  of  truth,  and  "  sat  down  in  quiet  ignorance  of  those 
things  which  are  beyond  the  reach  of  our  capacities."  The 
grand  aim  of  the  Essay  was  to  prove  that  all  knowledge  is 
founded  on  experience.  That  proved,  he  was  aware  that  Expe 
rience  never  could  be  other  than  relative — it  could  only  be  our 
Experience  of  things ;  and  our  Experience  could  be  no  absolute 
standard ;  it  could  only  be  a  standard  for  us. 

§  VI.  LOCKE'S  CRITICS. 

We  cannot  leave  the  great  Englishman  without  adverting  to 
the  tone  adopted  by  many  of  his  critics.  This  tone  has  been 
any  thing  but  considerate.  The  sincerest  and  least  dogmatic  of 
thinkers  has,  for  the  most  part,  met  with  insincere  and  shallow 
criticism. 

That  men  should  misrepresent  Spinoza,  Hobbes,  or  Hume,  is 
intelligible  enough ;  men  are  frightened,  and  in  their  terror  ex 
aggerate  and  distort  what  they  see.  That  they  should  misrep 
resent  Kant,  Fichte,  or  Hegel,  is  also  intelligible ;  the  remote 
ness  of  the  speculations,  and  the  difficulty  of  the  language,  are 
sufficient  excuses.  But  that  they  should  misrepresent  Locke  is 
wholly  inexcusable.  He  was  neither  an  audacious  speculator, 
nor  a  cloudy  writer.  His  fault  was  that  he  spoke  plainly  and 
honestly.  He  sought  the  truth  ;  he  did  not  wish  to  mystify  any 
one.  He  endeavored  to  explain  the  Chemistry  of  the  Mind  (if 
the  metaphor  be  permissible),  renouncing  the  vague,  futile 
dreams  of  Alchemy.  All  those  men  who  still  seek  to  penetrate 
impenetrable  mysteries,  and  refuse  to  acknowledge  the  limits  of 
man's  intelligence,  treat  Locke  with  the  same  superb  disdain  as 
the  ambitious  alchemists  treated  the  early  chemists.  The  tone 
in  which  most  modern  Frenchmen  and  Germans  speak  of  Locke 


534  LOCKE. 

is  painful ;  the  tone  in  which  many  Englishmen  speak  of  him  is 
disgraceful.  To  point  out  any  error  is  honorable  ;  but  to  ac 
cuse  him  of  errors  which  are  not  to  be  found  in  his  work,  to 
interpret  his  language  according  to  your  views,  and  then  accuse 
him  of  inconsistency  and  superficiality  ;  to  speak  of  him  with 
superciliousness,  as  if  he  were  some  respectable  but  short-sighted 
gentleman  dabbling  with  philosophy,  and  not  one  of  the  great 
benefactors  of  mankind,  deserves  the  severest  reprobation.* 

There  is  no  excuse  for  not  understanding  Locke.  If  his  lan 
guage  be  occasionally  loose  and  wavering,  his  meaning  is  always 
to  be  gathered  from  the  context.  He  had  not  the  lucidity  of 
Descartes  or  Hobbes ;  but  he  was  most  anxious  to  make  himself 
intelligible,  and  to  this  end  he  varied  his  expressions,  and  stated 
his  meaning  in  a  variety  of  forms.  He  must  not  be  taken  liter 
ally.  No  single  passage  is  to  be  relied  on,  unless  it  be  also 
borne  out  by  the  wrhole  tenor  of  his  speculations.  Any  person 
merely  "  dipping  into  "  the  Essay,  will  find  passages  which  seem 
very  contradictory ;  any  person  carefully  reading  it  through  will 
find  all  clear  and  coherent. 

The  most  considerable  of  Locke's  modern  critics  is  Victor 
Cousin.  He  has  undertaken  an  examination  and  refutation  of 
all  Locke's  important  positions.  The  eminence  of  his  name  and 
the  popular  style  of  his  lectures  have  given  great  importance  to 
his  criticism ;  but  if  we  are  to  speak  out  our  opinion  frankly,  we 
must  characterize  this  criticism  as  very  unfair,  and  extremely 
shallow.  We  cannot  here  examine  his  examination :  a  volume 
would  not  suffice  to  expose  all  his  errors.  Let  one  example  of 
his  unfairness,  and  one  of  his  shallowness,  suffice. 

Speaking  of  the  principle  of  reflection,  he  says  :  "  In  the  first 
place,  remark  that  Locke  here  evidently  confounds  reflection 
with  consciousness.  Reflection,  strictly  speaking,  is  doubtless  a 
faculty  analogous  to  consciousness,  but  distinct  from  it,  and  which 


*  On  this  point,  consult  Dr.  Vaughan's  vigorous  defence  of  Locke  against 
his  critics  in  the  Essays  on  History,  Philosophy,  eta. 


535 

more  particularly  belongs  to  philosophers,  whereas  consciousness 
belongs  to  every  man." 

We  answer,  that  in  the  first  place,  so  for  from  its  being  evi 
dent  that  Locke  confounds  reflection  with  consciousness,  his 
whole  Essay  proves  the  contrary.  In  the  second  place,  M. 
Cousin,  using  the  word  reflection  in  a  peculiar  sense  (viz.  as  tan 
tamount  to  speculation),  forces  that  sense  upon  Locke,  and  thus 
makes  the  contradiction  !  If  M.  Cousin  had  interpreted  Locke 
fairly,  he  could  never  have  thus  "  caught  him  on  the  hip." 

It  is  quite  true  that  in  the  passage  quoted  by  M.  Cousin,  the 
faculty  of  reflection  is  limited  to  the  operations  of  the  mind ;  but, 
as  we  said,  to  pin  Locke  down  to  any  one  passage  is  unfair ;  and 
his  whole  Essay  proves,  in  spite  of  some  ill-worded  definitions, 
that  by  reflection  he  meant  very  much  what  is  usually  meant  by 
it,  viz.  the  activity  of  the  mind  in  combining  the  materials  it  re 
ceives  through  sense,  and  becoming  thus  a  source  of  ideas. 

This  leads  us  to  the  second  example.  M.  Cousin  wishing  to 
prove,  against  Locke,  that  we  have  ideas  from  some  other  source 
besides  sensation  and  reflection,  instances  the  idea  of  space,  and 
examines  how  it  was  possible  to  obtain  that  idea  through  sensa 
tion  and  reflection.  That  the  idea  of  pure  space  could  not  have 
been  obtained  through  the  senses  he  seems  to  think  is  satisfac 
torily  proved  by  proving  that  the  idea  has  nothing  sensuous  in 
it;  that  it  could  not  have  been  obtained  through  reflection, 
because  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  operations  of  our  under 
standing,  is  equally  evident  to  him.  Hence,  as  both  sources  fail, 
he  pronounces  Locke's  account  of  the  origin  of  our  knowledge 
"  incomplete  and  vicious." 

This  argument,  which  extends  to  several  pages,  is  deemed  by 
M.  Cousin  triumphant.  Locke  indeed  says  that  "  we  get  the  idea 
of  space  both  by  our  sight  and  touch."  Any  honest  inquirer 
would  never  quibble  upon  this — would  never  suppose  Locke 
meant  to  say  that  space  is  a  sensation.  He  would  understand  that 
Locke  meant  to  say,  "  the  idea  of  space  is  an  abstraction :  the 
primary  materials  are  obtained  through  our  touch  and  sight." 


536  LOCKE. 

Locke  did  not  anticipate  any  quibbling  objection,  so  did  not 
guard  against  it ;  but  in  his  explanation  of  our  idea  of  substance 
he  has  given  an  analogous  case ;  although  his  antagonists  have 
also  frequently  objected  that  the  idea  of  substance  never  could 
have  been  obtained  through  sense.  It  has  been  thought  an  irre 
sistible  argument  against  Locke's  theory :  the  very  fact  that  we 
have  an  idea  of  substance  is  supposed  to  be  sufficient  proof  of 
some  other  source  of  knowledge  than  sensation  and  reflection. 
This  is  an  example  of  how  carelessly  Locke  has  been  read.  He 
expressly  tells  us,  in  more  places  than  one,  that  the  idea  of  sub 
stance  (and  by  idea  he  does  not  here  mean  image,  but  a  thought) 
is  an  inference  grounded  upon  our  experience  of  external  things. 
True  it  is  that  we  perceive  nothing  but  phenomena,  but  our 
minds  are  so  constituted  that  we  are  forced  to  suppose  these 
phenomena  have  substances  lying  underneath  them. 

"If  any  one  will  examine  himself,"  he  says,  "concerning  his 
notion  of  pure  substance  in  general,  he  will  find  he  has  no  other 
idea  of  it  at  all,  but  only  a  supposition  of  he  knows  not  what 
support  of  such  qualities  which  are  capable  of  producing  simple 
ideas  in  us,  which  qualities  are  commonly  called  accidents.  If 
any  one  should  be  asked  what  is  the  subject  wherein  color  or 
weight  inheres,  he  would  have  nothing  to  say  but  the  solid  ex 
tended  parts;  and  if  he  were  demanded  what  is  it  that  solidity 
and  extension  inhere  in,  he  would  not  be  in  a  much  better  case 
than  the  Indian  who,  saying  that  the  world  was  supported  by  a 
great  elephant,  was  asked  what  the  elephant  rested  on,  to  which 
his  answer  was,  A  great  tortoise;  but  being  again  pressed  to 
know  what  gave  support  to  the  great  broad-backed  tortoise,  re 
plied,  Something,  he  knew  not  what." 

The  same  course  of  argument  will  apply  to  space.  Space  is 
an  idea  suggested  by  place,  which  is  surely  one  derived  from  the 
senses ;  but  M.  Cousin  declaims  away  at  a  great  rate,  and  brings 
forward  many  arguments  and  illustrations,  all  utterly  trivial,  to 
show  that  the  idea  of  space  could  never  have  been  a  sensation. 
A  little  more  attention  in  reading  the  author  he  attacks  would 


537 

have  saved  him  all  this  trouble.  Locke  never  for  an  instant 
supposed  that  the  idea  of  space  could  have  been  a  sensation  :  on 
the  fact  that  it  could  not,  he  grounds  his  position  that  the  idea 
is  vague,  and  is  a  mere  "  supposition." 

The  German  critics  we  may  pass  over  in  silence.  The  whole 
tenor  of  their  speculations  unfits  them  for  judging  Locke.  But 
let  us  hear  an  Englishman,  who  is  also  an  historian  : — "  We  need 
not  spend  much  time  in  pointing  out  the  inconsistencies  into 
which  Locke  fell,"  says  Dr.  Whewell,  "  as  all  must  fall  into  in 
consistencies  who  recognize  no  source  of  knowledge  except  the 
senses."  Let  us  remark,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  is  surely  a 
questionable  procedure  thus  to  pass  over  so  great  a  man  as 
Locke,  whose  influence  has  been  so  general  and  lasting,  and 
whose  "inconsistencies"  it  behooved  Dr.  Whewell,  more  than 
most  men,  to  refute,  inasmuch  as  Locke's  principles  refute  his 
whole  philosophy.  Secondly,  it  is  a  misrepresentation  to  assert 
Locke's  having  recognized  "  no  source  of  knowledge  except  the 
senses."  On  reconsideration  he  must  admit  that  Locke  did 
recognize  another  source.  "  Thus  he  maintains,"  continues  Dr. 
Whewell,  "  that  our  idea  of  space  is  derived  from  the  senses  of 
sight  and  touch — our  idea  of  solidity  from  the  touch  alone. 
Our  notion  of  substance  is  an  unknown  support  of  unknown 
qualities,  and  is  illustrated  by  the  Indian  fable  of  the  tortoise 
which  supports  the  elephant  which  supports  the  world." 

Space  we  have  already  considered  in  answering  M.  Cousin. 
As  to  solidity,  if  the  idea  be  not  derived  from  the  sensation,  from 
whence  is  it  derived  ?  And  as  to  substance,  we  must  here  again 
notice  a  misrepresentation  of  Locke,  who  does  not  define  it  as 
"  an  unknown  support  of  unknown  qualities,"  but  as  an  unknown 
support  of  known  qualities :  from  our  knowledge  of  the  qualities 
we  infer  the  existence  of  some  substratum  in  which  they  inhere. 
We  are,  with  respect  to  substance,  somewhat  in  the  condition  of 
a  blind  man,  who,  whenever  he  moved  in  a  certain  direction, 
should  receive  a  blow  from  some  revolving  wheel.  Although 
unable  to  see  the  wheel,  and  so  understand  the  cause  of  the  pain 


538  LOCKE. 

lie  received,  he  would  not  hesitate  to  attribute  that  cause  to 
something  without  him.  All  he  could  ever  know,  unassisted, 
would  be  the  fact  of  his  being  struck  when  he  moved  in  a  cer 
tain  direction ;  he  could  have  no  other  knowledge  of  the  wheel, 
yet  he  would  be  quite  certain  that  there  was  something  besides  his 
pain,  and  that  unknown  something  would  stand  to  him  in  a  rela 
tion  somewhat  similar  to  that  in  which  the  unknown  support 
of  known  accidents  of  bodies  stands  to  us.  This  is  Locke's 
meaning. 

"  Our  notion  of  power  or  cause,"  continues  the  historian,  "  is 
in  like  manner  got  from  the  senses ;  and  yet,  though  these  ideas 
are  thus  mere  fragments  of  our  experience,  Locke  does  not  hesi 
tate  to  ascribe  to  them  necessity  and  universality  when  they 
occur  in  propositions.  Thus  he  maintains  the  necessary  truth  of 
geometrical  properties ;  he  asserts  that  the  resistance  arising  from 
solidity  is  absolutely  insurmountable ;  he  conceives  that  nothing 
short  of  Omnipotence  can  annihilate  a  particle  of  matter ;  and 
he  has  no  misgivings  in  arguing  upon  the  axiom  that  every 
thing  must  have  a  cause.  He  does  not  perceive  that  upon  his 
own  account  of  the  origin  of  our  knowledge,  we  can  have  no 
right  to  make  any  of  these  assertions.  If  our  knowledge  of  the 
truths  which  concern  the  external  world  were  wholly  derived 
from  experience,  all  that  we  could  venture  to  say  would  be,  that 
geometrical  properties  of  figures  are  true  as  far  as  we  have  tried 
them  ;  that  we  have  seen  no  example  of  a  solid  body  being  re 
duced  to  occupy  less  space  by  pressure,  or  of  a  material  substance 
annihilated  by  natural  means ;  and  that,  wherever  we  have  exam 
ined,  we  have  found  that  every  change  has  had  a  cause." 

This  is  only  one  among  many  instances  of  Dr.  Whewell's  want 
of  accurate  interpretation  of  Locke.  The  fallacy  on  which  his 
argument  rests,  we  shall  examine  at  some  length  when  we  come 
to  treat  of  Kant.  Meanwhile  let  the  following  passage  prove 
that  he  has  misconceived  Locke,  who  certainly  did  not  hesitate 
to  ascribe  necessity  and  universality  to  certain  ideas  when  they 
"  occur  in  propositions,"  but  who  very  clearly  explained  the  na- 


539 

ture  of  this  necessity  in  a  masterly  passage:  "There  is  one  sort 
of  propositions  concerning  the  existence  of  any  thing  answerable 
to  such  an  idea ;  as  having  the  idea  of  an  elephant,  phoenix,  mo 
tion,  or  angle,  in  my  mind,  the  first  and  natural  inquiry  is, 
whether  such  a  thing  does  anywhere  exist.  And  this  knowledge 
is  only  of  particulars.  No  existence  of  any  thing  without  us, 
except  God,  can  certainly  be  known  further  than  our  senses  in 
form  us. 

"  There  is  another  sort  of  propositions,  wherein  is  expressed 
the  agreement  or  disagreement  of  our  abstract  ideas  and  their 
dependence  on  one  another.  Such  propositions  may  be  universal 
and  certain.  So,  having  the  idea  of  God  and  of  myself,  of  fear 
and  obedience,  I  cannot  but  be  sure  that  God  is  to  be  feared  and 
obeyed  by  me :  and  this  proposition  will  be  certain  concerning 
man  in  general,  if  I  have  made  an  abstract  idea  of  such  species 
whereof  I  am  one  particular.  But  yet  this  proposition,  how  cer 
tain  soever,  that  men  ought  to  fear  and  obey  God,  proves  not  to 
me  the  existence  of  men  in  the  world,  but  will  be  true  of  all 
such  creatures  wherever  they  do  exist :  which  certainty  of  such 
general  propositions  depends  on  the  agreement  or  disagreement 
to  be  discovered  in  those  abstract  ideas.  In  the  former  case  our 
knowledge  is  the  consequence  of  the  existence  of  things  pro 
ducing  ideas  in  our  minds  by  our  senses ;  in  the  latter,  knovvl- 
•  edge  is  the  consequence  of  the  ideas  (be  they  what  they  will) 
that  are  in  our  minds  producing  their  general  certain  proposi 
tions. 

"  Many  of  these  are  called  ceternce,  veritates  j  and  all  of  them 
indeed  are  so ;  not  from  being  written  in  the  minds  of  all  men, 
or  that  they  were  any  of  them  propositions  in  any  one's  mind 
till  he,  having  got  the  abstract  ideas,  joined  or  separated  them 
by  affirmation  or  negation.  But  wheresoever  we  can  suppose 
such  a  creature  as  man  is,  endowed  with  such  faculties,  and 
thereby  furnished  with  such  ideas  as  we  have,  we  must  conclude 
he  must  needs,  when  he  applies  his  thoughts  to  the  consideration 
of  his  ideas,  know  the  truth  of  certain  propositions  that  will  arise 


540  LOCKE. 

from  the  agreement  or  disagreement  which  he  will  perceive  in 
his  own  ideas.  Such  propositions  therefore  are  called  eternal 
truths,  not  because  they  are  eternal  propositions  actually  formed 
and  antecedent  to  the  understanding  that  makes  them ;  nor  be 
cause  they  are  imprinted  on  the  mind  from  any  patterns  that 
are  anywhere  of  them  out  of  the  mind  and  existed  before  ;  but 
because  being  once  made  about  abstract  ideas  so  as  to  be  true, 
they  will,  whenever  they  can  be  supposed  to  be  made  again  at 
any  time  by  a  mind  having  those  ideas,  always  actually  be  true."* 
This  passage  is  sufficient  to  exonerate  him  from  the  charge  of 
inconsistency  ;  sufficient  also,  we  believe,  to  show  the  error  of 
Dr.  Whewell's  own  conception  of  the  necessity  of  certain  truths. 
The  foregoing  are  samples  of  the  style  in  which  the  great  mas 
ter  of  Psychology  is  spoken  of  by  his  most  modern  critics.  Let 
them  be  sufficient  warning  to  the  reader  of  what  he  is  to  expect 
from  the  partisans  of  the  reaction  against  Locke,  and  his  follow 
ers  ;  and  stimulate  him  to  the  careful  study  of  that  author  who 
"  professes  no  more  than  to  lay  down,  candidly  and  freely,  his 
own  conjectures  concerning  a  subject  lying  somewhat  in  the 
dark,  without  any  other  design  than  an  unbiased  inquiry  after 
truth." 

*  Book  iv.  ch.  xi.  §§  13,  14. 


CHAPTER    III. 
LEIBNITZ. 

LEIBNITZ  was  the  first  and  last  of  Locke's  great  critics.  He 
had  studied  the  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,  though  he 
could  not  accept  its  principles.  His  arguments  have  formed  the 
staple  of  objection  against  Locke  ;  and  from  him  they  come  with 
peculiar  force,  because  they  are  parts  of  his  system. 

Leibnitz  has  a  great  reputation  in  philosophy  and  mathemat 
ics  ;  but  the  nature  of  this  work  forbids  our  entering  into  any 
detailed  examination  of  his  claims,  inasmuch  as  he  introduced  no 
new  ideas,  no  new  extension  of  old  methods.  All  that  can  here 
be  done  is  to  indicate  the  line  of  opposition  which  he  took  with 
respect  to  Locke's  theory  of  the  origin  of  Knowledge. 

At  first  he  answered  Locke  in  a  few  paragraphs  of  a  somewhat 
supercilious  tone.  He  evidently  looked  upon  the  Essay  as  not 
destined  to  achieve  any  influential  reputation.*  This  opinion  he 
lived  to  alter ;  and  in  his  Nouveaux  Essais  sur  VEntendemeni 
Humain,  he  brought  all  his  forces  to  bear  upon  the  subject ;  he 
grappled  with  the  Essay,  and  disputed  the  ground  with  it  inch 
by  inch.  This  remarkable  work  was  not  published  till  many 
years  after  his  death,  and  is  not  included  in  M.  Dutens'  edition. 
Dugald  Stewart  was  not  aware  of  its  existence  ;  and  this  fact  will 
explain  a  passage  in  his  Dissertation,  where  he  says  that  Leib 
nitz  always  speaks  coldly  of  Locke's  Essay.  Leibnitz  does  so  in 
his  earlier  works ;  but  in  the  Neu>  Essays  he  treats  his  great  ad 
versary  with  due  respect ;  and  in  the  Preface,  speaks  of  him  with 
eulogy.  "The  Essay  concerning  Human  Understanding,  writ- 


*  See  deflexions  sur  VEssai  de  M.  Loclce,  in  the  Eecueil  of  Desmaizeaux, 
vol.  ii. 


542  LEIBNITZ. 

ten  by  an  illustrious  Englishman,  being  one  of  the  finest  and 
most  esteemed  works  of  our  time,  I  have  resolved  to  make  some 
comments  on  it.  ...  Thus  I  shall  procure  a  favorable  introduc 
tion  for  my  thoughts  by  placing  them  in  such  good  company. 
...  It  is  true  that  I  am  often  of  a  different  opinion  ;  but  so  far 
from  detracting  on  that  account  from  the  merit  of  this  celebrated 
writer,  that  I  do  him  justice  in  making  known  in  what  and 
wherefore  I  differ  from  him,  when  I  judge  it  necessary  to  pre 
vent  his  authority  from  prevailing  over  reason  on  some  important 
points.  In  fact,  although  the  author  of  the  Essay  says  a  thou 
sand  things  which  I  must  applaud,  yet  our  systems  greatly  differ. 
His  has  greater  affinity  to  that  of  Aristotle,  —  mine,  to  that  of 
Plato."  This  is  the  spirit  in  which  the  Homeric  heroes  regard 
their  adversaries  ;  an  interchange  of  admiration  for  each  other's 
prowess  does  not  deaden  one  of  their  blows,  but  it  makes  the 
combat  more  dignified. 

Leibnitz  belonged  to  the  Cartesians  ;  but  he  also  mingled  with 
the  doctrines  of  Descartes  certain  ideas  which  he  had  gathered 
from  his  commerce  with  antiquity.  Plato,  and  Democritus  espe 
cially,  influenced  him.  To  a  mind  thus  furnished,  the  doctrines 
of  Locke  must  needs  have  been  unwelcome  ;  indeed  they  could 
not  be  expected  to  gain  admission.  Moreover,  as  F.  Schlegel 
well  observed,  every  man  is  born  either  a  Platonist  or  an  Aris 
totelian.*  Leibnitz  and  Locke  were  examples  of  this  antago 
nism  :  "Our  differences,"  says  Leibnitz,  "are  important.  The 
question  :  .between  us  is  whether  the  soul  in  it 


ike  tablets  upon  which  nothing  has  been  written  (tabula  rasa), 
according  to  Aristotle  and  the  author  of  the  Essay  ;  and  whether 
alTlbat  is  there  traced  comes  wholly  from  the  senses_  aja 


ence  ;  or  whether  the  soul  originally  contains  the  piiruiiples  of  - 
several  notions  and  doctrines,  which  the  external  objects  only_ 
awaken  on  occasions,  as  I  believe  with  Plato." 


*  Coleridge  used  to  pass  off  this  aphorism  as  his  own.     It  is  to  be  found 
however  in  Schlegel's  Geschichte  der  Lite  rat  >.ir. 


LEIBNITZ.  543 

The  nature  of  the  problem  is  well  stated  here ;  and  Leibnitz 
sides  with  Plato  in  his  solution  of  it.  The  main  arguments  by 
which  he  supports  his  view  are  those  so  often  since  repeated  of 
the  Unigfirsality  and  Necessity  of  certain  tmths;  and  of  the  in 
capacity  of  experience  to  furnish  us  with  any  thing  beyond  a 
knowledge  of  individual  cases.  "  For  if  any  event  can  be  foreseen 
before  it  has  been  tried,  it  is  manifest  that  we  contribute  some 
thing  for  our  own  parts."  Ergo,  mere  experience,  it  is  argued, 
does  not  constitute  all  our  knowledge.  "  The  senses,  although 
necessary  for  all  actual  knowledge,  are  not  sufficient  to  give  us  all 
of  it ;  since  the  senses  never  can  give  but  examples,  that  is  to  say 
particular  or  individual  truths.  But  all  the  examples  which  con 
firm  a  general  truth,  however  numerous,  do  not  suffice  to  establish 
the  universal  necessity  of  that  truth ;  for  it  does  not  follow  that 
that  which  has  once  occurred  will  always  occur  in  the  same  way." 

Leibnitz  continues  :  "  Whence  it  appears  that  necessary  truths, 
such  as  we  find  in  mathematics,  and  particularly  in  arithmetic 
and  geometry,  must  have  principles  of  which  the  proof  does  not 
depend  upon  examples,  nor  consequently  upon  the  senses,  al 
though  without  the  senses  one  would  never  have  thought  of 
them.  So  also  logic,  metaphysics,  and  morals  are  full  of  such 
truth a1jand_consequently  their  proofs  can  only  come  from  those 
internal  principles  which  are  called  innate? 

Locke  would  perfectly  have  agreecl  with  these  premises,  but 
the  conclusion  he  would  rightly  have  rejected.  That  the  senses 
alone  could  not  furnish  us  with  any  general  truth,  he  taught  as 
expressly  as  Leibnitz  did ;  but  this  in  no  way  affects  his  system, 
for  he  did  not  build  his  system  upon  the  senses  alone. 

Leibnitz  however  seems  to  have  been  misled  by  Locke's  lan 
guage  in  the  first  definition  of  Reflection  ;  for  he  says,  "  Perhaps 
the  opinions  of  our  able  author  are  not  so  far  from  mine  as 
they  appear  to  be.  For  after  having  employed  the  whole  of  his 
first  book  against  innate  knowledge  taken  in  a  certain  sense,  he 
acknowledges  in  the  beginning  of  the  second  that  there  are 
ideas  which  do  not  originate  from  the  senses,  but  arise  from  Re- 


544:  LEIBNITZ. 

flection.  Now  reflection  is  nothing  but  attention  to  that  which 
passes  within  us ;  and  the  senses  do  not  convey  to  us  ivhat  we 
already  possess  within  ourselves.  Can  it  then  be  denied  that 
there  is  much  innate  in  the  mind  ?" 

The  passage  in  italics  is  a  curious  instance  of  how  the  mind, 
preoccupied  with  its  own  opinions,  sees  them  reflected  in  the 
expressions  of  others.  Leibnitz  here  assumes  the  very  point  at 
issue  ;  assumes  that  the  mind  has  innate  ideas  which  the  senses 
cannot  convey  to  it ;  and  this  assumption  he  supposes  to  be 
contained  in  Locke's  words.  Locke  taught  precisely  the  con 
trary.  "The  mind  is  itself  innate,"  continues  Leibnitz — (to 
which  we  reiterate  our  objection:  innate  VOL  what?  In  itself? 
or  in  us  ?  To  say  that  it  is  innate  in  itself  is  a  quibble  ;  that  it 
is  innate  in  us  is  a  displacement  of  the  question  :  no  one  ever 
doubted  that  the  mind  of  man  was  born  in  man — born  with 
man ;  the  question  was,  Are  there  any  klpas  horn  with  tkft- 
rmml,  or  are  all  ideas  acquired  by  the  mind  ?)  "  The  mind  is 
itself  innate,  and  there  are  included  in  it  substance,  duration, 
change,  action,  perception,  pleasure,  and  a  thousand  other  ob 
jects  of  our  intellectual  ideas.  .  .  .  I  have  used  the  comparison^ 
of  a  block  of  marble  which  has  certain  veins  in  it,  rather  than 
a  plain  piece  of  marble  such  as  the  philosophers  call  tabula  rasa  ; 
because  if  the  soul  resembled  tablets  unwritten  on,  truths  would 
be  in  us  like  the  figure  of  Hercules  in  the  block  of  marble, 
when  that  marble  may  receive  indifferently  one  figure  or  another. 
But  if  there  are  veins  in  the  marble  which  mark  the  figure  of 
Hercules  rather  than  any  other  figure,  that  marble  would  be 
more  determinate,  and  the  figure  of  Hercules  would  in  some 
way  be  innate,  although  labor  would  be  necessary  to  discover 
the  veins,  and  to  free  them  from  their  envelopment  of  marble. 
Thus  are  ideas  and  truths  innate  in  us." 

This  is  an  ingenious  statement  of  the  theory :  unfortunately 
for  it,  the  very  existence  of  these  veins  in  the  marble  is  an  as 
sumption,  and  an  assumption  not  made  for  the  facilitating  of 
inquiry,  but  simply  for  the  proof  of  the  theory  assumed  ;  it  is 


LEIBNITZ.  545 

an  hypothesis  framed  for  the  sake  of  explaining — what? — the 
hypotheses  itself!  Ideas  are  first  assumed  to  be  innate;  to 
prove  this  assumption,  another  assumption — the  existence  of 
innate  ideas — is  made;  and  the  theory  is  comolete. 

The  real  force  of  Leibnitz's  theory  lies  in  his  distinction  be 
tween  contingent  and  necessary  truths,  and  in  his  position  that 
experience  alone  could  never  furnish  ns  with  necessary  truths. 
The  examination  of  this  we  must  delay  till  we  come  to  Kant. 

A  brief  view  of  the  celebrated  scheme  of  Pre-established  Har 
mony  will  be  all  that  is  necessary  to  complete  what  we  have 
here  to  say  of  Leibnitz.  It  was  in  those  days  an  axiom  univer 
sally  admitted  that  "Like  could  only  act  upon  Like."  The 
question  then  arose :  how  does  body  act  upon  mind :  how  does 
mind  act  upon  body?  The  two  were  utterly  unlike:  how 
could  they  act  upon  each  other  ?  In  other  words :  how  is  Per 
ception  possible  ?  All  the  ordinary  explanations  of  Perception 
were  miserable  failures.  If  the  mind  perceives  copies  of  things, 
how  are  these  copies  transmitted  ?  Effluvia,  eidola,  images,  motions 
in  spirits,  etc.,  were  not  only  hypotheses,  but  hypotheses  which 
bore  no  examination :  they  did  not  get  rid  of  the  difficulty  of 
two  unlike  substances  acting  upon  each  other. 

Leibnitz  borrowed  this  hypothesis  from  Spinoza — whom,  by 
the  way,  he  always  abuses:  The  human  mind  and  the  human 
body  are  two  independent  but  corresponding  machines.  They 
are  so  adjusted  that  they  are  like  two  unconnected  clocks  con 
structed  so  that  at  the  same  instant  one  should  strike  the  hour 
and  the  other  point  it.  "I  cannot  help  coming  to  this  notion," 
he  says,  "  that  God  created  the  soul  in  such  a  manner  at  first, 
that  it  should  represent  within  itself  all  the  simultaneous  changes 
in  the  body ;  and  thut  he  has  made  the  body  also  in  such  a 
manner  as  that  it  must  of  itself  do  what  the  soul  wills  :  so  that 
the  laws  which  make  the  thoughts  of  the  soul  follow  each  other 
in  regular  succession,  must  produce  images  which  shall  be'  coin 
cident  with  the  impressions  made  by  external  objects  upon  our 
organs  of  sense  ;  while  the  laws  by  which  the  motions  of  the 


546          SUMMARY  OF  THE  THIRD  EPOCH. 

body  follow  each  other  are  likewise  so  coincident  with  the 
thoughts  of  the  soul  as  to  give  to  our  volitions  and  actions  the 
very  same  appearance  as  if  the  latter  were  really  the  natural 
and  the  necessary  consequences  of  the  former."* 

This  hypothesis  has  been  much  ridiculed  by  those  unaware  of 
the  difficulties  it  was  framed  to  explain.  It  is  so  repugnant  how 
ever  to  all  ordinary  views,  that  it  gained  few,  if  any,  adherents. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
SUMMAKY  OF  THE  THIRD  EPOCH. 

THE  result  of  the  speculations  we  have  been  considering — spec 
ulations  begun  by  Gassendi  and  Hobbes,  and  further  developed 
by  Locke — was  to  settle,  for  a  long  while,  the  dispute  respecting 
Experience,  and  to  give  therefore  a  new  direction  to  inquiry. 

It  was  considered  as  established, — 1st.  That  we  could  have  no 
knowledge  not  derived  from  experience.  2d.  That  experience 
was  of  two  kinds,  viz.  of  external  objects  and  of  internal  opera 
tions  ;  therefore  there  were  two  distinct  sources — sensation  and 
reflection.  3d.  That  all  knowledge  could  only  consist  in  the 
agreement  or  disagreement  of  our  ideas.  4th.  Finally,  that  we 
could  never  know  things  in  themselves,  but  only  things  as  they 
affect  us ;  in  other  words,  we  could  only  know  our  ideas. 

To  this  had  Locke  brought  Philosophy.  Rightly  interpreted, 
it  was  a  denial  of  all  Philosophy — a  demonstration  of  its  im 
possibility  ;  but  this  interpretation  Locke  did  not  put  upon  his 
doctrines.  That  remained  for  Hume.  Locke's  system  produced 
three  distinct  systems :  Berkeley's  Idealism,  Hume's  Skepticism, 
and  Condillac's  Sensationalism. 

*  The  best  edition  of  Leibnitz's  works  is  that  by  Erdmann — Leibnitii 
Opera  Philosophica:  Berlin,  1839.  The  Nouveaux  Ensa is  are  there  for  the 
second  time  published  (the  first  was  in  Easpe's  edition,  Leipzig,  1765) ;  and 
they  have  been  since  republished  in  a  cheap  and  convenient  form  by  M. 
Jacques  :  Paris,  1845. 


FOURTH  EPOCH. 


THE  SUBJECTIVE  NATURE  OF  KNOWLEDGE  LEADS  TO 
IDEALISM. 


CHAPTER  I. 
BEKKELEY. 

§  I.  LIFE  OF  BERKELEY. 

THERE  are  few  men  of  whom  England  has  better  reason  to  be 
proud  than  of  George  Berkeley,  Bishop  of  Cloyne.  To  extra 
ordinary  merits  as  a  writer  and  thinker,  he  united  the  most  ex 
quisite  purity  and  generosity  of  character;  and  it  is  still  a 
moot-point  whether  he  was  greater  in  head  or  heart. 

He  was  born  on  the  12th  of  March,  1684,  at  Kilkrin,  in  the 
county  of  Kilkenny  ;  and  educated  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 
where,  in  1707,  he  was  admitted  as  a  Fellow.  In  1709,  he  pub 
lished  his  Neio  Theory  of  Vision,  which  made  an  epoch  in  / 
Science ;  and  the  year  after,  his  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge, 
which  made  an  epoch  in  Metaphysics.  After  this  he  came  to 
London,  where  he  was  received  with  open  arms.  "Ancient 
learning,  exact  science,  polished  society,  modern  literature,  and 
the  fine  arts,  contributed  to  adorn  and  enrich  the  mind  of  this 
accomplished  man.  All  his  contemporaries  agreed  with  the 
Satirist  in  ascribing 

'  To  Berkeley  every  virtue  under  heaven.' 

Adverse  factions  and  hostile  wits  concurred  only  in  loving,  admi 
ring,  and  contributing  to  advance  him.     The  severe  sense  of 


548  BERKELEY. 

Swift  endured  his  visions  ;  the  modest  Addison  endeavored  to 
reconcile  Clarke  to  his  ambitious  speculations.  His  character 
converted  the  satire  of  Pope  into  fervid  praise.  Even  the  dis 
cerning,  fastidious,  and  turbulent  Atterbury  said,  after  an  inter 
view  with  him,  *  So  much  learning,  so  much  knowledge,  so  much 
innocence,  and  such  humility,  I  did  not  think  had  been  the  por 
tion  of  any  but  angels,  till  I  saw  this  gentleman.'  "* 

His  acquaintance  with  the  wits  led  to  his  contributing  to  the 
Guardian.  He  became  chaplain  and  afterwards  secretary  to  the 
Earl  of  Peterborough,  whom  he  accompanied  on  his  embassy  to 
Sicily.  He  subsequently  made  the  tour  of  Europe  with  Mr. 
Ashe,  and  at  Paris  met  Malebranche,  with  whom  he  had  an  ani 
mated  discussion  on  the  ideal  theory.  In  1724  he  was  made 
Dean  of  Deny.  This  was  worth  eleven  hundred  pounds  a  year 
to  him ;  but  he  resigned  it  in  order  to  dedicate  his  life  to  the 
conversion  of  the  North  American  savages,  stipulating  only  with 
the  Government  for  a  salary  of  one  hundred  pounds  a  year.  On 
this  romantic  and  generous  expedition  he  was  accompanied  by 
;  his  young  wife.  He  set  sail  for  Rhode  Island,  carrying  with  him 
a  valuable  library  of  books,  and  the  bulk  of  his  property.  But, 
to  the  shame  of  the  Government,  be  it  said,  the  promises  made 
him  were  not  fulfilled,  and  after  seven  years  of  single-handed 
endeavor,  he  was  forced  to  return  to  England,  having  spent  the 
greater  part  of  his  fortune  in  vain. 

He  was  made  Bishop  of  Cloyne  in  1734.  When  he  wished 
to  resign,  the  King  would  not  permit  him ;  and  being  keenly 
alive  to  the  evils  of  non-residence,  he  made  an  arrangement  be 
fore  leaving  Cloyne,  whereby  he  settled  £200  a  year,  during  his 
absence,  on  the  poor.  In  1752,  he  removed  to  Oxford,  where, 
in  1753,  he  was  suddenly  seized,  while  reading,  with  palsy  of  the 
heart,  and  died  almost  instantaneously. 

Of  his  numerous  writings  we  cannot  here  speak;  two  only 
belong  to  our  subject :  the  Principles  of  Knowledge,  and  the 

*  Sir  J.  Mackintosh. 


LIFE    OF    BERKELEY.  549 

Dialogues  of  Hylas  and  Philonous.  We  hope  to  remove  some 
of  the  errors  and  prejudices  with  which  his  name  is  incrusted. 
We  hope  to  show  that,  even  in  what  are  called  his  wildest  moods, 
Berkeley  was  a  plain,  sincere,  deep-thinking  man,  not  a  sophist, 
playing  with  paradoxes  to  display  his  skill. 

§  II.  BERKELEY  AND  COMMON  SENSE. 

All  the  world  has  heard  of  Berkeley's  Idealism  ;  and  innumer 
able  "  coxcombs  "  have  vanquished  it  "  with  a  grin."*  Ridicule 
has  not  been  sparing.  Argument  has  not  been  wanting.  Ideal 
ism  has  been  laughed  at,  written  at,  talked  at,  shrieked  at.  That 
it  has  been  understood  is  not  so  apparent.  In  reading  the  criti 
cisms  upon  his  theory  it  is  quite  ludicrous  to  notice  the  constant 
iteration  of  trivial  objections,  which,  trivial  as  they  are,  Berkeley 
had  already  anticipated.  In  fact  the  critics  misunderstood  him, 
and  then  reproached  him  for  inconsistency — inconsistency,  not 
with  his  principles,  but  with  theirs.  They  forced  a  meaning  upon 
his  words  which  he  had  expressly  rejected ;  and  then  triumphed 
over  him  because  he  did  not  pursue  their  principles  to  the  extrav 
agances  which  would  have  resulted  from  them. 

When  Berkeley  denied  the  existence  of  matter,  he  meant  by 
"matter"  that  unknown  substratum,  the  existence  of  which 
Locke  had  declared  to  be  a  necessary  inference  from  our  knowl 
edge  of  qualities,  but  the  nature  of  which  must  ever  be  altogether 
hidden  from  us.  Philosophers  had  assumed  the  existence  of 
Substance,  i.  e.  of  a  noumenon  lying  underneath  all  phenomena — 
a  substratum  supporting  all  qualities — a  something  in  which  all 
accidents  inhere.  This  unknown  Substance,  Berkeley  rejects.  It 
is  a  mere  abstraction,  he  says.  If  it  is  unknown,  unknowable, 
it  is  a  figment,  and  I  will  none  of  it ;  for  it  is  a  figment  worse 
than  useless ;  it  is  pernicious,  as  the  basis  of  all  atheism.  If  by 
matter  you  understand  that  which  is  seen,  felt,  tasted,  and  touch 
ed,  then  I  say  matter  exists :  I  am  as  firm  a  believer  in  its  exist- 

*  "  And  coxcombs  vanquish  Berkeley  with  a  grin." — Pope. 


550  BERKELEY. 

ence  as  any  one  can  be,  and  herein  I  agree  with  the  vulgar.  If, 
on  the  contrary,  you  understand  by  matter  that  occult  substratum 
which  is  not  seen,  not  felt,  not  tasted,  and  not  touched — that  of 
which  the  senses  do  not,  cannot,  inform  you — then  I  say  I  believe 
not  in  the  existence  of  matter,  and  herein  I  differ  from  the  phi 
losophers  and  agree  with  the  vulgar. 

"  I  am  not  for  changing  things  into  ideas,"  he  says,  "  but  rather 
ideas  into  things ;  since  those  immediate  objects  of  perception, 
which,  according  to  you  (Berkeley  might  have  said  according  to 
all  philosophers)  are  only  appearances  of  things,  I  take  to  be  the 
real  things  themselves. 

"  Hylas.  Things !  you  may  pretend  what  you  please  ;  but  it 
is  certain  you  leave  us  nothing  but  the  empty  forms  of  things, 
the  outside  of  which  only  strikes  the  senses. 

"  Philonous.  What  you  call  the  empty  forms  and  outside  of 
things  seem  to  me  the  very  things  themselves.  .  .  .  We  both 
therefore  agree  in  this,  that  we  perceive  only  sensible  forms ;  but 
herein  we  differ :  you  will  have  them  to  be  empty  appearances ; 
I,  real  beings.  In  short,  you  do  not  trust  your  senses  ;  I  do? 

Berkeley  is  always  accused  of  having  propounded  a  theory 
which  contradicts  the  evidence  of  the  senses.  That  a  man  who 
thus  disregards  the  senses  must  be  out  of  his  own,  was  a  ready 
answer ;  ridicule  was  not  slow  in  retort ;  declamation  gave  itself 
elbow-room,  and  exhibited  itself  in  a  triumphant  attitude.  It 
was  easy  to  declare  that  "  the  man  who  seriously  entertains  this 
belief,  though  in  other  respects  he  may  be  a  very  good  man,  as 
a  man  may  be  who  believes  he  is  made  of  glass ;  yet  surely  he 
hath  a  soft  place  in  his  understanding,  and  hath  been  hurt  by 
much  thinking."* 

Unfortunately  for  the  critics,  Berkeley  did  not  contradict  the 
evidence  of  the  senses ;  did  not  propound  a  theory  at  variance 
in  this  point  with  the  ordinary  belief  of  mankind.  His  pecu 
liarity  is,  that  he  confined  himself  exclusively  to  the  evidence  of 

*  Reid,  Inquiry. 


BERKELEY  AND   COMMON    SENSE.  551 

the  senses.  What  the  senses  informed  him  of,  that,  and  that 
only,  would  he  accept.  He  held  fast  to  the  facts  of  conscious 
ness;  he  placed  himself  resolutely  in  the  centre  of  the  instinctive 
belief  of  mankind  :  there  he  took  his  stand,  leaving  to  philoso 
phers  the  region  of  supposition,  inference,  and  of  occult  sub 
stances. 

The  reproach  made  to  him  is  really  the  reproach  he  made  to 
philosophers,  namely,  that  they  would  not  trust  to  the  evidence 
of  their  senses  ;  that  over  and  above  what  the  senses  told  them, 
they  imagined  an  occult  something  of  which  the  senses  gave  no 
indication.  "  Now  it  was  against  this  metaphysical  phantom  of 
the  brain,"  says  an  acute  critic,  "  this  crotchet-world  of  philoso 
phers,  and  against  it  alone,  that  all  the  attacks  of  Berkeley  were 
directed.  The  doctrine  that  the  realities  of  things  were  not  made 
for  man,  and  that  he  must  rest  satisfied  with  mere  appearances, 
was  regarded,  and  rightly,  by  him,  as  the  parent  of  skepticism 
with  all  her  desolating  train.  He  saw,  that  philosophy,  in  giving 
up  the  reality  immediately  within  her  grasp,  in  favor  of  a  reality 
supposed  to  be  less  delusive,  which  lay  beyond  the  limits  of  ex 
perience,  resembled  the  dog  in  the  fable,  who,  carrying  a  piece 
of  meat  across  a  river,  let  the  substance  slip  from  his  jaws,  while 
with  foolish  greed  he  snatched  at  the  shadow  in  the  stream. 
The  dog  lost  his  dinner,  and  philosophy  let  go  her  secure  hold 
upon  truth.  He  therefore  sided  with  the  vulgar,  who  recognize 
no  distinction  between  the  reality  and  the  appearance  of  objects, 
and,  repudiating  the  baseless  hypothesis  of  a  world  existing  un 
known  and  unperceived,  he  resolutely  maintained  that  what  are 
called  the  sensible  shows  of  things  are  in  truth  the  very  things 
themselves."* 

True  it  is  that,  owing  to  the  ambiguities  of  language,  Berke 
ley's  theory  does  seem  to  run  counter  to  the  ordinary  belief  of 
mankind,  because  by  Matter  men  commonly  understand  the 


*  Blackwood1  a  Mag.,  June,  1842,  p.  814,  art.  Berkeley  and  Idealism;  under 
stood  to  have  been  written  by  Professor  Ferrier. 


552  BERKELEY, 

Seen,  the  Tasted,  the  Touched,  etc. ;  therefore  when  the  exist 
ence  of  matter  is  denied,  people  naturally  suppose  that  the  exist 
ence  of  the  Seen,  the  Tasted,  and  the  Touched  is  denied,  never 
suspecting  that  Matter,  in  its  philosophical  sense,  is  the  not  seen, 
not  tasted,  not  touched.  Berkeley  has  not,  it  must  be  confessed, 
sufficiently  guarded  against  all  ambiguity.  Thus  he  says  in  one 
of  the  opening  sections  of  his  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge, 
that  "  it  is  indeed  an  opinion  strangely  prevailing  amongst  men 
that  houses,  mountains,  rivers,  and,  in  a  word,  all  sensible  objects, 
have  an  existence,  natural  or  real,  distinct  from  their  being  per 
ceived  by  the  understanding."  This  is  striking  a  false  key 
note.  It  rouses  the  reader  to  oppose  a  coming  paradox.  Yet 
Berkeley  foresaw  and  answered  the  objections  which  Wimpey, 
Beattie,  Reid,  and  others  brought  forward.  He  was  not  giving 
utterance  to  a  caprice ;  he  was  not  spinning  an  ingenious 
theory,  knowing  all  the  while  that  it  was  no  more  than  an  inge 
nuity.  He  was  an  earnest  thinker,  patient  in  the  search  after  truth. 
Anxious  therefore  that  his  speculations  should  not  be  regarded 
as  mere  dialectical  displays,  he  endeavored  on  various  occasions 
to  guard  himself  from  misapprehension. 

"  I  do  not  argue  against  the  existence  of  any  one  thing  that 
we  can  apprehend  either  by  sensation  or  reflection.  That  the 
things  I  see  with  my  eyes  and  touch  with  my  hands  do  exist, 
really  exist,  I  make  not  the  least  question.  The  only  thing 
whose  existence  I  deny  is  that  which  philosophers  call  Matter,  or 
corporeal  substance.  And  in  doing  this  there  is  no  damage 
done  to  the  rest  of  mankind,  who,  I  dare  say,  will  never  miss 
it.  ... 

"  If  any  man  thinks  we  detract  from  the  reality  or  existence  of 
things,  he  is  very  far  from  understanding  what  has  been  pre 
mised  in  the  plainest  terms  I  could  think  of.  ...  It  will  be 
urged  that  thus  much  at  least  is  true,  viz.  that  we  take  away  all 
corporeal  substances.  To  this  my  answer  is,  that  if  the  word 
substance  be  taken  in  the  vulgar  sense  for  a  combination  of  sen 
sible  qualities,  such  as  extension,  solidity,  weight,  etc.,  this  we 


BERKELEY    AND    COMMON    SENSE.  553 

cannot  be  accused  of  taking  away.*  But  if  it  be  taken  in  the 
philosophic  sense,  for  the  support  of  accidents  or  qualities 
without  the  mind ;  then,  indeed,  I  acknowledge  that  we  take  it 
away,  if  one  may  be  said  to  take  away  that  which  never  had 
any  existence,  not  even  in  the  imagination.!  But  say  what  we 
can,  some  perhaps  may  be  apt  to  reply,  he  will  still  believe  his 
senses,  and  never  suffer  any  arguments,  however  plausible,  to 
prevail  over  the  certainty  of  them.  Be  it  so :  assert  the  evi 
dence  of  sense  as  high  as  you  please,  we  are  willing  to  do  the 
same.  That  what  I  see,  hear,  and  feel,  doth  exist,  i.  e.  is  per 
ceived  by  me,  I  no  more  doubt  than  I  do  of  my  own  being  ;  but 
I  do  not  see  how  the  testimony  of  sense  can  be  alleged  as  a  proof 
of  any  thing  which  is  not  perceived  by  sense ."J 

After  reading  these  passages  (and  more  of  a  similar  cast 
might  be  quoted),  in  what  terms  shall  we  speak  of  the  works 
written  to  refute  Idealism  ?  Where  was  the  acuteness  of  the 
Reids  and  Beatties,  when  they  tauntingly  asked  why  Berkeley 
did  not  run  his  head  against  a  post,  did  not  walk  over  preci 
pices,  etc.,  as,  in  accordance  with  his  theory,  no  pain,  no  broken 
limbs  could  result  ?§  Where  was  philosophical  acumen,  when 
writers  could  imagine  they  refuted  Berkeley  by  an  appeal  to 
common  sense — when  they  contrasted  the  instinctive  beliefs  of 
mankind  with  the  speculative  paradoxes  of  a  philosopher,  who 

*  An  answer  to  Pr.  Johnson's  peremptory  refutation  of  Berkeley,  viz. 
kicking  a  stone ;  us  if  Berkeley  ever  denied  that  what  we  call  stones  ex 
isted  ! 

t  This  is  not  well  said.  That  substance  was  imagined  to  exist  (as  a  sup 
port  of  accidents)  Berkeley's  argument  supposes  :  it  is  against  such  an  ima 
ginary  existence  he  directs  his  attacks.  Perhaps  he  means  that  no  image  of 
substance  could  be  formed  in  the  mind  ;  which  no  one  disputes. 

J  Principles  of  Human  Knowledge,  sections  35,  36,  37,  40. 

§  "  But  what  is  the  consequence?  I  resolve  not  to  believe  my  senses  ?  I 
break  my  head  against  a  post  that  comes  in  my  way ;  I  step  into  a  dirty 
kennel ;  and  after  twenty  such  wise  and  rational  actions  I  am  taken  up  and 
clapt  into  a  madhouse.  Now  I  confess  I  had  rather  make  one  of  those  credu 
lous  fools  whom  nature  imposes  upon,  than  of  those  wise  and  rational  phi 
losophers  who  resolve  to  withhold  assent  at  all  this  expense." — Reid's 
Inquiry,  ch.  4,  §  20.  This  one  passage  is  as  good  as  a  hundred. 

24 


554:  BERKELEY. 

expressly  took  his  stand  beside  common  sense  against  philoso 
phers  ? 

Men  trained  in  metaphysical  speculations  may  find  it  difficult 
to  conceive  the  non-existence  of  an  invisible  unknowable  sub 
stratum  ;  but  that  the  bulk  of  mankind  find  it  almost  impossible 
to  conceive  any  such  substratum,  is  a  fact  which  the  slightest 
inquiry  will  verify.  We  remember  a  discussion  which  lasted  an 
entire  evening,  in  which  by  no  power  of  illustration,  by  no  force 
of  argument,  could  the  idea  of  this  substance,  apart  from  its 
sensible  qualities^  be  rendered  conceivable  to  our  antagonist. 

Berkeley  therefore,  in  denying  the  existence  of  matter,  sided 
with  common  sense.  He  thought,  with  the  vulgar,  that  matter 
was  that  of  which  his  senses  informed  him  ;  not  an  occult  some 
thing  of  which  he  could  have  no  information.  The  table  he 
saw  before  him  certainly  existed  :  it  was  hard,  polished,  colored, 
of  a  certain  figure,  and  cost  some  guineas.  But  there  was  no 
phantom  table  lying  underneath  the  apparent  table — there  was 
no  invisible  substance  supporting  that  table.  What  he  per 
ceived  was  a  table,  and  nothing  more ;  what  he  perceived  it  to 
be,  he  would  believe  it  to  be,  and  nothing  more.  His  starting- 
point  was  thus  what  the  plain  dictates  of  his  senses,  and  the 
senses  of  all  men,  furnished. 

§  III.  IDEALISM. 

The  first  step  which  a  philosopher  takes  in  any  inquiry  is  a 
departure  from  Common  Sense.  Reflecting  upon  what  his 
senses  convey  to  him,  he  seeks  an  explanation  of  phenomena  : 
and  it  is  in  proportion  to  the  care  with  which  he  analyzes  the 
facts  to  be  explained,  that  he  is  usually  supposed  to  be  free 
from  the  mere  extravagances  of  speculation.  And  yet  Berke 
ley's  rigorous  analysis  of  the  facts  of  consciousness  has  obtained 
for  him  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  most  extravagant  of 
speculators ! 

This  is  the  problem  :  our  senses  inform  us  of  the  existence  of 


IDEALISM.  555 

certain  sensible  qualities,  such  as  extension,  color,  solidity,  etc. 
But  our  reason  tells  us  that  these  qualities  must  be  qualities  of 
something :  they  cannot  exist  as  mere  extension,  color,  etc. : 
there  must  be  something  extended,  colored,  etc.  What  is  that 
something?  The  solution  given  by  the  philosophers  was  uni 
formly  this  :  what  that  substance  is  we  can  never  know,  because 
it  lies  beyond  our  apprehension  ;  but  we  are  forced  to  admit  it, 
as  a  support  to  the  qualities  which  we  do  apprehend,  as  a  sub 
stance  in  which  sensible  qualities  inhere.  So  that,  deeply  con 
sidered,  the  only  reason  for  inferring  the  existence  of  Matter  is 
the  necessity  for  some  synthesis  of  attributes. 

Now,  what  did  Berkeley  ?  With  very  subtle  perception  of 
the  difficulties  of  the  problem,  he  boldly  solved  it  by  making  the 
synthesis  a  mental  one.  Thus  was  matter  wholly  got  rid  of;  it 
had  no  longer  the  excuse  of  being  an  inference. 

The  nature  of  human  knowledge  is  the  first  objeet  of  his  in 
quiry.  "  It  is  said  that  the  faculties  we  have  are  few,  and  those 
designed  by  nature  for  the  support  and  pleasure  of  life,  and  not 
to  penetrate  into  the  inward  essence  and  constitution  of  things. 
Besides,  the  mind  of  man,  being  finite,  when  it  treats  of  things 
which  partake  of  infinity,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  it  run 
into  absurdities  and  contradictions,  out  of  which  it  is  impossible 
it  should  ever  extricate  itself,  it  being  of  the  nature  of  infinite 
not  to  be  comprehended  by  that  which  is  finite." 

This  is  plainly  enough  launched  at  Locke ;  but  the  worthy 
Bishop  has  no  such  disposition  "  to  sit  down  in  quiet  ignorance." 
He  suspects  that  "  we  may  be  too  partial  in  placing  the  fault 
originally  in  our  faculties,  and  not  rather  in  the  wrong  use  we 
make  of  them."  He  believes  that  God  is  too  bountiful  not  to  have 
placed  knowledge  within  our  reach,  of  which  he  has  given  us  the 
desire.  Berkeley  here  forgets  the  lesson  man  was  taught  in  Para 
dise,  where  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  was  placed  within  his  reach, 
but  the  fruits  thereof  forbidden  him.  "  Upon  the  whole,"  con 
tinues  Berkeley,  "  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  far  greater 
part,  if  not  all  the  difficulties  which  have  hitherto  amused  philoso- 


556  BERKELEY. 

phers  and  blocked  up  the  way  to  knowledge,  are  entirely  owing 
to  themselves.  That  we  have  first  raised  a  dust,  and  then  com 
plain  we  cannot  see." 

The  pretension  on  which  all  philosophy  is  founded  is  here 
openly  proclaimed.  The  consequences  of  Locke's  doctrine  are 
rejected  ;  the  premises  are  retained.  Berkeley's  account  of  the 
origin  of  knowledge  is  the  same  as  Locke's,  only  somewhat 
more  explicitly  defined.  "  It  is  evident  to  any  one  who  takes  a 
survey  of  the  objects  of  human  knowledge  that  they  are  either 
ideas  actually  imprinted  on  the  senses,  or  else  such  as  are  per 
ceived  by  attending  to  the  passions  and  operations  of  the  mind  ; 
or,  lastly,  ideas  formed  by  help  of  memory  and  imagination, 
either  compounding,  dividing,  or  barely  representing  those  origi 
nally  perceived  in  the  aforesaid  ways." 

Remark,  firstly,  that  the  objects  of  knowledge  are  said  to  be 
ideas.  This  has  a  paradoxical  air  to  those  unaccustomed  to 
metaphysics,  yet  it  is  the  simple  expression  of  the  facts  of  con 
sciousness.  All  that  the  mind  can  be  conversant  about  is  ob 
viously  its  ideas :  we  are  conscious  of  nothing  but  the  changes 
that  take  place  in  our  minds.  Whether  these  ideas  are  the 
copies  or  representatives  of  any  things — whether  changes  in  our 
state  are  to  be  attributed  to  any  external  cause :  this  is  a  question 
of  philosophy,  a  question  which  common  sense  makes  no  scruple  of 
begging.  You  see  before  you  a  flower,  and  you  assume  that  an 
external  thing  resembling  that  flower  exists,  and  that  your  sensa 
tion  is  produced  by  it,  as  a  reflection  in  a  mirror  is  produced  by 
an  object  out  of  the  mirror.  But  dive  deeper  into  consciousness ; 
interrogate  yourself,  and  you  will  find  that  the  comparison  of  the 
mirror  is  an  assumption  made  only  to  explain  the  facts  of  con 
sciousness,  not  given  in  those  facts.  Moreover,  granting  the  as 
sumption,  you  will  then  make  the  mind  immediately  conversant 
with  its  ideas  only  /  for  assuming  that  objects  reflect  themselves 
in  the  mirror,  the  mirror  itself  knows  only  the  reflections  :  these 
it  knows  immediately;  the  objects  it  knows  mediately,  i.e. 
through  the  reflections.  Thus  is  Berkeley  keeping  rigorously  to 


IDEALISM.  557 

the  facts  of  consciousness  when  he  says  that  the  "  objects  of 
knowledge  are  ideas." 

Secondly,  remark  on  Berkeley's  use  of  the  word  idea,  which 
stands  both  for  sensation  and  idea.  We  cannot  but  regard  this 
confusion  of  language  as  the  cause  of  no  little  misapprehension 
of  his  doctrines.  R  is  well  therefore  to  warn  the  reader  thereof. 
Now  to  consequences.  u  That  neither  our  thoughts,  nor  pas 
sions,  nor  the  ideas  formed  by  our  imagination,  exist  without  the 
mind,  is  what  everybody  will  allow ;  and  to  me  it  is  no  less  evi 
dent  that  the  various  sensations  or  ideas  imprinted  on  the  sense, 
however  blended  or  combined  together  (that  is,  whatever  objects 
they  compose),  cannot  exist  otherwise  than  in  a  mind  perceiving 
them.  .  .  .  The  table  I  write  on,  I  say  exists,  i.  e.  I  see  it  and  feel  it, 
and  if  I  were  out  of  my  study  I  should  say  it  existed ;  meaning 
thereby  that  if  I  was  in  my  study  I  might  perceive  it,  or  that 
some  other  spirit  actually  does  perceive  it.  As  to  what  is  said 
about  the  existence  of  unthinking  things,  without  any  relation  to 
their  being  perceived,  that  is  to  me  perfectly  unintelligible. 
Their  esse  is  percipi  j  nor  is  it  possible  they  should  have  any 
existence  out  of  the  minds  or  thinking  things  which  perceive 
them." 

It  is  in  this  last  paragraph  that  the  kernel  of  his  system  lies. 
He  had  identified  objects  with  ideas  :  having  done  so,  it  was  easy 
to  prove  that  objects  could  not  exist  without  a  perceiving  mind 
in  which  to  exist  as  ideas.  "  For  what  are  the  objects  but  the 
things  which  we  perceive  by  sense  ?"  Realism  assents  :  objects 
are  what  we  perceive.  "And  what,  I  pray  you,"  continues 
Berkeley,  "  do  we  perceive  besides  our  own  ideas  or  sensations  ?" 
Realism  hesitates  ;  certainly  the  mirror  has  nothing  immediately 
present  to  it,  besides  the  reflections.  "  And  is  it  not  plainly  re 
pugnant,"  triumphantly  continues  Idealism,  "  that  any  one  of 
these  ideas,  or  any  combination  of  them,  should  exist  unper- 
ceived  ?"  Realism  has  no  answer  to  offer.  It  is  in  a  dilemma 
from  which  there  is  apparently  no  escape. 

The  supposition  of  the  existence  of  matter  is  founded  on  the 


558  BERKELEY. 

doctrine  of  abstract  ideas  (against  which  Berkeley  wages  war). 
"  For  can  there  be  a  nicer  strain  of  abstraction  than  to  distin 
guish  the  existence  of  sensible  objects  from  their  being  perceived, 
so  as  to  conceive  them  existing  unperceived  ?  Light  and  colors, 
heat  and  cold,  extension  and  figures — in  a  word,  the  things  we 
see  and  feel — what  are  they  but  so  many  sensations,  notions, 
ideas,  or  impressions  on  the  sense ;  and  is  it  not  impossible  to 
separate,  even  in  thought,  any  of  these  from  perception  ?  For  my 
part,  I  might  as  easily  divide  a  thing  from  itself.  '•  I  may  indeed 
divide  in  my  thoughts,  or  conceive  apart  from  each  other,  those 
things  which  perhaps  I  never  perceived  by  sense  so  divided. 
Thus  I  imagine  the  trunk  of  the  human  body  without  the  limbs, 
or  conceive  the  smell  of  a  rose  without  thinking  of  the  rose  itself. 
So  far  I  will  not  deny  that  I  can  abstract,  if  that  be  properly 
called  abstraction  which  extends  only  to  the  conceiving  sepa 
rately  such  objects  as  it  is  impossible  may  really  exist,  or  be  ac 
tually  perceived  asunder ;  but  my  conceiving  or  imagining  power 
does  not  extend  beyond  the  possibility  of  real  existence  or  per 
ception.  Hence,  as  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  see  or  feel  any 
thing  without  an  actual  sensation  of  that  thing,  so  it  is  impossi 
ble  for  me  to  conceive  in  my  thoughts  any  sensible  thing  or  ob 
ject  distinct  from  the  sensation  or  perception  of  it.  In  truth,  the 
object  and  the  sensation  are  the  same  thing,  and  cannot  there 
fore  be  abstracted  from  one  another.  .  .  . 

"  In  a  word,  all  the  choir  of  heaven  and  furniture  of  earth — 
all  those  bodies  which  compose  the  mighty  frame  of  the  world — 
have  not  any  subsistence  without  a  mind :  their  esse  is  to  be  per 
ceived  or  known  ;  and  consequently,  so  long  as  they  are  not  ac 
tually  perceived  by  me,  or  do  not  exist  in  my  mind,  or  that  of 
any  other  created  spirit,  they  must  either  have  no  existence  at 
all,  or  else  subsist  in  the  mind  of  some  eternal  spirit.  .  .  . 

"Though  we  hold  indeed  the  objects  of  sense  to  be  nothing 
else  but  ideas  which  cannot  exist  unperceived,  yet  we  may  not 
hence  conclude  they  have  no  existence  except  only  while  they 
are  perceived  by  us,  since  there  may  be  some  other  spirit  that 


IDEALISM.  559 

perceives  them,  though  we  do  not.  Whenever  bodies  are  said  to 
have  no  existence  without  the  mind,  I  would  not  be  understood  to 
mean  this  or  that  particular  mind,  but  all  minds  whatsoever.  It 
does  not  therefore  follow  that  bodies  are  annihilated  and  created 
every  moment,  or  exist  not  at  all  during  the  intervals  between 
our  perception  of  them.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  content  to  put  the  whole  upon  this  issue :  if  you  can 
but  conceive  it  possible  for  one  extended  movable  substance,  or 
in  general  for  any  one  idea,  or  any  thing  like  an  idea,  to  exist 
otherwise  than  in  a  mind  perceiving  it,  I  shall  readily  give  up 
the  cause ;  I  shall  grant  you  its  existence,  though  you  cannot 
either  give  me  a  reason  why  you  believe  it  exists,  or  assign  any 
use  to  it  when  it  is  supposed  to  exist.  I  say  the  bare  possibility 
of  your  opinion  being  true,  shall  pass  for  an  argument  that  it 
is  so. 

"  But,  say  you,  surely  there  is  nothing  easier  than  for  me  to 
imagine  trees  in  a  park,  or  books  in  a  closet,  and  'nobody  by  to 
perceive  them.  I  answer,  you  may  so:  there  is  no  difficulty  in 
it.  But  what  is  all  this,  I  beseech  you,  more  than  framing  in 
your  mind  certain  ideas  which  you  call  books  and  trees,  and  at 
the  same  time  omitting  to  frame  the  idea  of  any  one  perceiving 
them  ? 

"  But  do  not  you  yourself  perceive  or  think  of  them  all  the 
while  ?  This  therefore  is  nothing  to  the  purpose  :  it  only  shows 
you  have  the  power  of  imagining  or  framing  ideas  in  your  mind, 
but  it  does  not  show  that  you  can  conceive  it  possible  the  objects 
of  your  thought  may  exist  without  the  mind.  To  make  out  this, 
it  is  necessary  that  you  conceive  them  existing  unperceived  or 
unthought  of,  which  is  a  manifest  repugnancy.  When  we  do 
our  utmost  to  conceive  the  existence  of  external  bodies,  we  are  all 
the  while  only  contemplating  our  own  ideas"* 

The  last  very  remarkable  passage  must  have  been  overlooked 


*  The  foregoing  passage^  are  all  taken  from  the  Principles  of  Human 
Knowkdge,  sections  5,  6,  6,  22  and  23. 


560  BERKELEY. 

by  the  critic  before  mentioned,  otherwise  he  would  not  have  said 
that  the  "knot  which  Berkeley  loosened,  but  which  he  certainly 
died  not  explicitly  untie,"  was  to  be  resolved,  for  the  first  time, 
by  the  arguments  he  there  brings  forward.  Berkeley  had  untied 
the  knot,  explicitly,  satisfactorily ;  and  that  too  in  the  same  way 
as  his  critic.* 

The  distinction  between  primary  and  secondary  qualities, 
Berkeley  easily  refutes,  and  shows  that  the  same  arguments 
which  make  the  secondary  qualities  to  be  only  affections  of  the 
mind  may  be  applied  to  the  primary  qualities. 

Having  battered  down  almost  every  objection,  trivial  or  seri 
ous,  that  could  be  offered,  Idealism  iterates  its  fundamental  prin 
ciple  : — All  our  knowledge  of  objects  is  a  knowledge  of  ideas  ; 
objects  and  ideas  are  the  same.  Ergo,  nothing  exists  but  what 
is  perceived. 

Realism  espies  a  loophole.  These  ideas,  with  which  we  admit 
the  mind  to  be  solely  conversant,  are  but  the  ideas  (images)  of 
certain  things :  these  things  exist  independently  of  being  per 
ceived,  though  their  ideas  cannot.  Berkeley  foresaw  this  also. 
"  But,  say  you,  though  the  ideas  themselves  do  not  exist  without 
the  mind,  yet  there  may  be  things  like  them  whereof  they  are 
copies  or  resemblances,  which  things  exist  without  the  mind  in 
an  unthinking  substance.  I  answer,  an  idea  can  be  like  nothing 
but  an  idea  ;  a  color  or  figure  can  be  like  nothing  but  another 
color  or  figure.  Again,  I  ask  whether  those  supposed  originals 
or  external  things,  of  which  our  ideas  are  the  pictures  or  repre 
sentations,  be  themselves  perceivable  or  no  ?  If  they  are,  then 
they  are  ideas,  and  we  have  gained  our  point ;  but  if  you  say 
they  are  not,  I  appeal  to  any  one  whether  it  be  sense  to  assert  a 
color  is  like  something  which  is  invisible  ;  hard  or  soft,  like  some 
thing  which  is  intangible  ?"  (Sect.  8.) 

Realism  is  without  a  shadow  of  an  answer.  The  philosophers 
are  powerless  against  a  theory  so  defended.,  No  wonder  that 

*  See  the  article-  in  B&ackwood,  p.  8-17,  et  seg. 


IDEALISM.  561 

Idealism  should  have  been  pronounced  irrefutable ;  the  weapons 
were  not  forged,  or,  at  any  rate,  were  not  in  the  armory  of  phi 
losophy,  which  could  successfully  assail  a  fortress  built  on  such  a 
position.  Dr.  Reid's  attempt  we  shall  examine  by  and  by. 

As  far  as  the  simple  facts  of  Consciousness  extend,  the  analysis 
given  by  Berkeley  is  unimpeachable,  unless  we  deny  that  Con 
sciousness  is  immediately  affected  by  sensations,  and  assert  that 
it  is  immediately  affected  by  external  objects ;  but  no  metaphysi 
cian  ever  took  up  this  position,  for  it  would  lead  him  to  maintain 
that  Consciousness  is  nothing  but  these  very  sensations,  which 
are  produced  in  the  organism  by  the  action  of  external  influ 
ences  ;  and  this  would  be  getting  rid  of  the  substratum  Mind, 
in  order  to  rescue  the  substratum  Matter.  No  metaphysician 
therefore  ever  did  o-r  could,  logically,  object  to  Berkeley's  funda 
mental  position  ;  but  only  tried  to  elude  it,  or  make  it  open  into 
other  issues. 

Given,  however,  the  facts,  there  comes  the  question  of  infer 
ences.  It  has  been  well  said  by  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  that  the 
denial  of  an  external  world  "  consists  of  a  series  of  dependent 
propositions,  no  one  of  which  possesses  greater  certainty  than 
the  single  proposition  to  be  disproved."*  If  the  grounds  of  our 
belief  in  an  external  world  are  questionable,  what  better  grounds 
have  we  for  the  belief  that  the  external  world  is  a  mere  subjec 
tive  phenomenon  ? 

We  are  to  settle  whether  it  is  a  more  plausible  hypothesis  that 
ideas  are  proximately  produced  in  us  by  the  mere  Will  of  the 
Creator,  whose  will  is  effectuated  by  certain  laws ;  or  whether  the 
ideas  are  proximately  produced  in  us  by  external  objects,  which 
exist  quite  independently  of  us.  This  question,  remember,  is  one 
which  admits  of  no  proof.  It  is-  not  a  question  of  fact,  but  of 
plausibility.  It  is  not  to  be  decided  by  common  sense,  but  by 
analogical  reasoning.  Our  knowledge  extends  no  further  than 
our  ideas..  Our  inferences  can  be-  nothing  more  tha-n  inferences. 

*  O 

*  Principles  of  Psychology,  p.  38, 
040 


562  BERKELEY. 

Berkeley  has  far  better  reasons  for  his  inference  than  his  critics 
imagine.  He  could  not  see  the  force  of  the  argument  which 
made  Matter  a  necessary  postulate.  That  we  could  have  sensa 
tions  and  ideas  without  the  presence  of  objects,  is  manifest  from 
the  fact  that  we  do  often  have  them  so,  in  dreams  and  frenzies. 
If,  therefore,  matter  is  not  always  necessary  for  the  production 
of  ideas — if  ideas  can  be  sometimes  produced  without  the  pres 
ence  of  external  objects — the  pretended  necessity,  which  alone 
forms  the  argument  for  the  existence  of  matter,  is  done  away  with. 

"  But  though,"  he  says,  "  we  might  possibly  have  all  our  sen 
sations  without  bodies,  yet  perhaps  it  may  be  thought  easier  to 
conceive  and  explain  the  manner  of  their  production  by  suppos 
ing  external  bodies  in  their  likeness  rather  than  otherwise,  and 
so  it  might  at  least  be  probable  there  are  such  things  as  bodies 
that  excite  ideas  in  our  minds.  But  neither  can  this  be  said,  for 
though  we  give  the  Materialists  their  external  bodies,  they,  by 
their  own  confession,  are  never  nearer  the  knowing  how  our  ideas 
are  produced,  since  they  own  themselves  unable  to  comprehend 
in  what  manner  body  can  act  upon  spirit,  or  how  it  is  possible  it 
should  imprint  an  idea  in  the  mind." 

We  have  here  the  difficulty  stated,  which  most  Dualists 
(those  who  maintain  the  existence  of  spirit  and  matter,  as  dis 
tinct-substances)  have  not  been  sufficiently  alive  to;  and  one 
which  gave  rise  to  Leibnitz's  theory  of  pre-established  harmony, 
and  to  Malebranche's  theory  of  our  seeing  all  things  in  God. 
This  difficulty  is  indeed  insuperable.  It  is  easy  to  talk  of  the 
spirit  being  a  mirror  in  which  the  universe  reflects  itself.  Try 
for  an  instant  to  imagine  a  substance,  such  as  matter,  reflecting 
itself  in,  or  acting  upon,  another  substance  having  no  one  prop 
erty  in  common  with  it.  You  cannot.  Nor  is  this  all:  you 
cannot  even  imagine  two  substances  so  distinct  as  matter  and 
spirit  are  defined  to  be. 

Berkeley  then  is  right  in  triumphing  over  Realism  and  Dual 
ism.  Right  in  saying,  that  if  he  were  to  accord  them  the  exist 
ence  of  matter,  they  could  make  no  use  of  it.  The  subject  would 


IDEALISM.  563 

remain  as  dark  as  before  :  matter  throws  no  light  on  it.  He 
maintains  that  our  ideas  are  produced  in  us  in  conformity  with 
the  laws  of  Nature.  These  laws  have  been  ordained  by  God. 
To  suppose  that  matter  is  the  mere  occasional  cause  —  the  vehicle 
through  which  the  laws  of  Nature  operate  —  is  gratuitous.  The 
agency  of  the  Creator  is  more  simple  and  direct.  He  had  no 
need  of  creating  first  laws,  and  afterwards  matter,  through  which 
these  laws  should  come  into  effect.  He  created  the  laws  alone  ; 
they  act  upon  us  as  they  were  destined  to  act,  and  without  the 
superfluous  aid  of  matter,  which  is  a  mere  go-between. 

Now,  as  an  inference  —  as  a  scientific  hypothesis  —  few  thor 
oughly  acquainted  with  the  question,  and  with  the  data  on  which 
it  was  founded,  can,  we  think,  deny  that  this  of  Berkeley  is  many 
degrees  superior  to  the  hypothesis  of  Dualism.  While  philoso 
phers  teach  that  there  are  two  distinct  eternal  substances,  which 
they  name  Spirit  and  Matter,  Berkeley  teaches  that  there  is  only 
one  substance,  viz.  Spirit.  With  this  one  substance  he  can  con 
struct  the  world.  According,  therefore,  to  the  fundamental  rule 
in  philosophy,  that  "  Entities  or  existences  are  not  to  be  multi 
plied  unless  upon  necessity"  (entia  non  sunt  multiplicanda  prce- 
ter  necessitatem),  the  introduction  of  a  second  substance,  viz. 
matter,  is  superfluous,  or  worse.  Of  the  existence  of  matter  we 
have  no  proof  whatever  :  it  is  a  mere  inference  ;  it  is  inferred, 
in  order  to  explain  the  phenomena  :  and  what  phenomena  ? 
those  of  perception  —  i.  e.  the  phenomena  of  the  thinking  sub 
stance. 

If,  then,  Berkeley  is  more  rigorous  in  his  analysis  of  facts,  and 
more  ingenious  and  plausible  in  his  hypothesis,  than  his  antago 
nists  suppose,  shall  we  pronounce  his  Idealism  satisfactory  and 
true  ? 

Hume  said  of  it,  that  it  admitted  of  no  answer,  but  produced 
no  conviction.  And  we  have  met  with  no  final  refutation  of  it. 
Yet,  inasmuch  as  it  is  the  irresistible  belief  of  mankind  that  ob 
jects  are  not  dependent  either  upon  our  perception  of  them,  or 
upon  the  perception  of  any  other  mind,  for  their  existence  —  that 


564  BERKELEY. 

objects  exist  per  se,  and  would  continue  to  exist  if  all  minds  were 
annihilated — Berkeley's  theory  never  can  produce  conviction. 
Reid,  therefore,  was  right  in  standing  by  this  universal  and  irre 
sistible  belief.  He  was  egregiously  wrong,  however,  in  supposing 
that  he  answered  Berkeley  by  an  appeal  to  this  irresistible  belief. 
It  does  not  follow  that  a  belief  which  is  irresistible  must  be  true. 
This  maxim,  so  loudly  proclaimed  by  the  Scotch  school,*  is  re 
futed  by  several  well-known  facts  in  philosophy.  Thus — to  take 
the  most  striking  example — the  belief  that  the  sun  revolved  round 
the  earth,  was  for  many  centuries  irresistible,  and  false.  Why  may 
not  Berkeley  have  been  a  metaphysical  Copernicus,  who,  by  rig 
orous  demonstration,  proved  the  believe  of  mankind  in  the  exist 
ence  of  matter  to  be  irresistible  and  false  ?  Reid  has  no  answer 
to  give.  He  can  merely  say,  "I  side  with  the  vulgar;"  but  he 
might  have  given  the  same  answer  to  Copernicus.  Many  illus 
trious  men  (Bacon  among  them)  ridiculed  the  Copernican  theory; 
but  all  the  dogmatism,  ridicule,  and  common  sense  in  the  world 
could  not  affect  that  theory.  Why,  we  repeat,  may  not  Berkeley 
have  been  a  metaphysical  Copernicus  ? 

To  prove  that  he  was  not,  you  must  prove  his  reasoning  de 
fective  ;  to  prove  this,  you  must  show  wherein  his  error  lies,  and 
not  wherein  his  theory  is  at  variance  with  your  belief.  All  that 
your  irresistible  belief  amounts  to,  is  that  of  a  strong,  a  very 
strong,  presumption  against  the  truth  of  that  which  opposes  it. 
Reid,  in  accepting  this  presumption  as  a  proof,  was  in  the  right 
so  long  as  Berkeley's  reasoning  was  not  strong  enough  to  over- 


*  Especially  by  Dr.  Brown,  who  says  that  the  ".skeptical  argument  for  the 
non-existence  of  an  external  world,  as  a  mere  play  of  reasoning,  admits  of 
no  reply."  The  only  reply  he  makes  is,  that  the  belief  is  irresistible,.  Hume 
had  already  admitted  that  the  belief  was  irresistible ;  the  whole  scope  of  his 
philosophy  was  to  prove  it  both  irresistible  &nd  false.  How  absurd,  then,  to 
appeal  to  the  belief!  Kant  truly  observes,  in  the  Preface  to  his  Kritik,  "  Ad 
mitting  Idealism  to  be  as  dangerous  as  it  really  is,  it  would  still  remain  a 
shame  to  philosophy  and  reason  to  be  forced  to  ground  the  existence  of  an 
external  world  on  the  (mere)  evidence  of  belief."  The  more  so  as  the  fact 
of  belief  had  never  been  questioned.  The  question  was,  Is  the  belief  well 
grounded  ? 


IDEALISM.  565 

come  it ;  but  singularly  wrong  in  supposing  that  the  presumption 
was  a  refutation. 

Berkeley's  main  position  is,  that  the  objects  of  knowledge .  are 
ideas,  and  nothing  but  ideas.  The  position  is  incontrovertible. 
The  conclusion  therefore,  all  human  knowledge  can  only  be  the 
knowledge  of  ideas,  and  of  nothing  but  ideas,  is  equally  incontest 
able.  Not  less  so  the  second  conclusion  :  objects  being  identified 
ivith  ideas,  and  we  having  no  idea  of  an  object  but  as  it  is  per 
ceived,  the  ESSE  of  objects  to  us  is  PERCIPI. 

In  admitting  all  this,  what  do  we  admit?  Simply  that  human 
knowledge  is  not  the  "  measure  of  all  things."  Objects  to  us  can 
never  be  more  than  ideas;  but  are  we  the  final  measure  of  all 
existence  ?  It  was  the  dogma  of  the  Sophist  that  Man  is  the 
measure  of  all  things.  It  should  not  be  the  dogma  of  the  sober 
thinker.  Because  we  can  only  know  objects  as  ideas,  is  it  a 
proper  conclusion  that  objects  only  exist  as  ideas?  For  this 
conclusion  to  be  rigorous,  we  must  have  some  proof  of  our  knowl 
edge  being  the  absolute  standard  of  truth,  instead  of  the  stand 
ard  of  the  relation  things  bear  to  our  intellect. 

The  Idealist  will  say,  "  If  you  cannot  know  any  thing  beyond 
your  ideas,  why  do  you  infer  that  there  is  any  thing  ? — A  ques 
tion  not  easily  answered.  He  will  moreover  say,  "  I  defy  you 
to  conceive  any  thing  existing  unperceived.  Attempt  to  imagine 
the  existence  of  matter  when  mind  is  absent.  You  cannot,  for 
in  the  very  act  of  imagining  it,  you  include  an  ideal  percipient. 
The  trees  and  mountains  you  imagine  to  exist  away  from  any 
perceiving  mind,  what  are  they  but  the  very  ideas  of  your  mind, 
which  you  transport  to  some  place  where  you  are  not  ?  In  fact, 
to  separate  existence  from  perception  is  radically  impossible.  It 
is  God's  synthesis,  and  man  cannot  undo  it."* 

To  this  we  answer,  it  is  very  true  that,  inasmuch  as  our  knowl 
edge  of  objects  is  identical  with  our  ideas,  we  can  never,  by  any 


*  See  this  argued  in  a  masterly  manner  by  the  critic  in  Blackwood  before 
quoted. 


566  BERKELEY. 

freak  of  thought,  imagine  an  object  apart  from  the  conditions 
under  which  we  know  it.  We  are  forced  by  the  laws  of  our  na 
ture  to  invest  objects  with  the  forms  in  which  we  perceive  them.* 
We  cannot  therefore  conceive  any  thing  which  has  not  been 
subject  to  the  laws  of  our  nature,  because  in  the  very  act  of  con 
ception  those  laws  come  into  play.  But  is  it  not  a  very  differ 
ent  proposition  to  say,  "I  cannot  conceive  things  otherwise  than 
according  to  the  laws  of  my  nature,"  and  to  say,  "I  cannot  con 
ceive  things  otherwise,  consequently  they  cannot  exist  otherwise?" 
The  Idealist  here  assumes  that  knowledge  is  absolute,  not  rela 
tive — that  man  is  the  measure  of  all  things. 

Perception  is  the  identity  (in  the  metaphysical  sense  of  the 
woi'd)  of  the  ego  and  the  non-ego — the  tertium  quid  of  two  uni 
ted  forces;  as  water  is  the  identity  of  oxygen  and  hydrogen. 
The  ego  can  never  have  any  knowledge  of  the  non-ego,  in  which 
it  (the  ego)  is  not  indissolubly  bound  up ;  as  oxygen  never  can 
unite  with  hydrogen  to  form  water,  without  mero-ino-  itself  and 

v  O  SO 

the  hydrogen  in  a  tertium  quid.  Let  us  suppose  the  oxygen 
endowed  with  a  consciousness  of  its  changes.  It  would  attribute 
the  change  not  to  hydrogen,  which  is  necessarily  hidden  from  it, 
but  to  ivater,  the  only  form  under  which  hydrogen  is  known  to 
it.  In  its  consciousness  it  would  find  the  state  named  water  (per 
ception),  which  would  be  very  unlike  its  own  state  (the  ego) ; 
and  it  would  suppose  that  this  state,  so  unlike  its  own,  was  a  rep 
resentation  of  that  which  caused  it.  We  say  then,  that  although 
the  hydrogen  can  only  exist  for  the  oxygen  (in  the  above  case) 
in  the  identity  of  both  as  water,  this  is  no  proof  that  hydrogen 

*  "  When  in  perception,"  says  Schelling,  "  I  represent  an  object,  object 
and  representation  are  one  and  the  same.  And  simply  in  this  our  inability  to 
discriminate  the  object  from  the  representation  daring  the  act,  lies  the  con 
viction  which  the  common  sense  of  mankind  has  of  the  reality  of  external 
things,  although  these  become  known  to  it  only  through  the  representa 
tions."  (Ideen  zu  einer  Philos.  der  Natur,  Einlditung,  p.  xix.,  quoted  by  Sir 
W.  Hamilton.)  This  is  indisputable,  but  it  is  only  saying  that  our  knowl 
edge  of  things  is  subject  to  the  conditions  of  knowledge.  Because  we  cannot 
discriminate  between  the  object  and  the  representation,  it  is  no  proof  that 
there  is  no  distinction  between  them. 


IDEALISM.  567 

does  not  exist  under  some  other  relations  to  other  forces.  In  like 
manner,  although  the  non-ego  cannot  exist  in  relation  to  mind 
otherwise  than  in  the  identity  of  the  two  (perception)  ;  this  is 
no  sort  of  proof  that  it  does  not  exist  in  relation  to  other  beings 
under  quite  different  conditions. 

In  conclusion,  we  admit,  with  the  Idealists,  that  all  our  knowl 
edge  of  objects  consists  in  our  ideas.  But  we  cannot  admit  that 
all  existence  is  limited  by  our  knowledge,  merely  on  the  ground 
that  when  we  would  conceive  any  thing  existing,  we  are  forced 
to  conceive  it  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  our  conceptive  fac 
ulties.  We  admit,  with  the  Idealists,  that  all  our  knowledge  is 
subjective.  But  we  do  not  admit  that  what  is  true  subjectively,  is 
true  objectively.  We  believe  in  the  existence  of  an  external 
world  quite  independent  of  any  percipient ;  not  because  such  is 
the  obvious  and  universal  belief,  but  because  the  arguments  by 
which  Idealism  would  controvert  it  are  vitiated  by  the  assump 
tion  of  knowledge  being  a  criterion  of  all  existences.  Idealism 
agrees  with  Realism  in  placing  reliance  on  the  evidence  of  sense ; 
it  argues  however  that  inasmuch  as  our  knowledge  is  confined  to 
ideas,  we  have  no  right  to  assume  any  thing  beyond  ideas.  Yet 
it  also  is  forced  to  assume  something  as  the  cause  of  ideas :  this 
cause  it  calls  the  Wi^  of  the  Creator;  and  this  is  an  assumption. 
The  real  dispute  therefore  should  be  concentrated  on  this  point : 
Which,  assumption  is  more  consonant  with  our  irresistible  belief, 
— the  assumption  of  an  external  matter  unlike  our  sensations, 
yet  the  cause  of  them ;  or  the  assumption  of  a  providential 
scheme,  in  which  our  sensations  are  the  effects  of  the  operation 
of  Divine  laws,  and  in  which  matter  plays  no  part  ?  The  answer 
cannot  be  dubious.  The  former  assumption,  as  more  consonant 
with  universal  belief,  must  be  accepted. 

Berkeley,  we  believe,  failed  as  a  metaphysical  Copernicus,  be 
cause  the  assumption  which  he  opposed  to  the  universal  belief 
was  less  consonant  with  that  belief  than  the  assumption  it  was 
meant  to  replace.  Had  Copernicus  not  started  an  hypothesis 
which,  however  contradictory  to  the  senses,  nevertheless  afforded 


568  BERKELEY. 

a  much  better  explanation  of  celestial  phenomena  than  was  pos 
sible  on  the  old  hypothesis,  he  would  not  have  been  listened  to. 
Berkeley's  assumption,  if  conceded,  carries  him  no  deeper  than 
the  old  assumption.  Idealism  explains  nothing.  To  accept  it 
would  be  to  renounce  a  universal  belief  for  a  mere  hypothesis. 
But  that  Berkeley  was  a  deep  and  remarkable  thinker  must  be 
readily  conceded ;  and  he  failed,  as  the  greatest  Philosophers  of 
all  times  have  failed,  not  because  he  was  weak,  but  because  Phi 
losophy  was  impossible. 

Those  who  have  followed  the  course  of  this  History  with  at 
tention  to  its  moral  (so  to  speak)  will  not  fail  to  observe  how 
Berkeley's  Idealism  is  at  bottom  but  the  much  decried  system  of 
Spinoza,  who  taught  that  there  was  but  one  essence  in  the  uni 
verse,  and  that  one  was  Substance.  Berkeley  also  taught  that 
there  was  but  one,  and  that  one  was  Thought.  Now  call  this 
One  what  you  will,  the  result  is  the  same  :  speculatively  or  prac 
tically.  You  may  have  certain  degrading  associations  attached 
to  the  idea  of  substance  ;  or  certain  exalted  associations  attached 
to  that  of  spirit.  But  what  difference  can  your  associations  make 
with  respect  to  the  real  nature  of  things  ? 

One  great  result  of  Berkeley's  labors  was  the  lesson  he  taught 
of  the  vanity  of  ontological  speculations.  He  paved  the  way  to 
that  skepticism  which,  gulf-like,  yawns  as  the  terminal  road  of 
all  consistent  Metaphysics. 


FIFTH  EPOCH. 


THE   ARGUMENTS   OF   IDEALISM   CARRIED    OUT   INTO 
SKEPTICISM. 


CHAPTER  I. 
HUME. 

§  I.  LIFE  OF  HUME. 

MR.  BURTON'S  ample  and  excellent  biography*  would  furnish 
us  with  materials  for  a  pleasant  memoir,  could  we  here  afford 
the  requisite  space ;  but  we  must  content  ourselves  with  refer 
ring  the  reader  to  that  work,  and  with  merely  recording  the 
principal  dates  and  events  of  an  uneventful  life. 

David  Hume  was  born  at  Edinburgh,  26th  April,  17 11 ;  the 
youngest  child  of  a  poor  laird  of  good  blood.  He  was  an  orphan 
before  his  education  was  completed.  His  guardians  first  thought 
of  the  profession  of  law,  but,  owing  to  his  repugnance,  he  was 
absolved  from  that  career,  and  was  placed  in  a  Bristol  counting- 
house,  where  he  did  not  remain  long.  On  coming  of  age  he 
found  himself  in  possession  of  a  small  property,  too  small  for 
honorable  subsistence  in  England,  but  large  enough  for  France, 
and  to  Rheirns  he  went ;  from  thence  to  La  Fleche,  where  the 
Jesuits'  college  and  library  were  great  attractions  to  the  studious 
youth  ;  and  there  he  passed  several  years  in  solitary  study. 

*  The  Life  and  Correspondence  of  David  Hume,  from  the  Papers  bequeathed 
to  the  Royal  Society  of  Edinburgh.  By  John  Hill  Burton.  2  vols. 


570  HUME. 

A  great  ambition  moved  him :  he  was  to  accomplish  for  moral 
science  a  revolution  analogous  to  that  which  Bacon  had  effected 
in  physical  science.  His  Treatise  on  Human  Nature,  which  ap 
peared  in  1737,  and  which  fell  still-born  from  the  press,  was  an 
nounced  as  an  attempt  to  introduce  the  experimental  method 
into  reasonings  on  moral  science.  We  need  scarcely  point  out 
the  profound  misconception  of  the  Experimental  Method  here 
implied ;  nor  is  it  necessary  to  show  at  any  length  that  there 
was  no  novelty  whatever  in  Hume's  attempt  to  test  psychology 
by  experience. 

In  1741  appeared  the  first  part  of  his  immortal  Essays  ;  and 
in  1747  he  accompanied  General  St.  Clair,  as  secretary,  in  the 
embassy  to  Vienna  and  Turin.  In  1752  he  published  his  Po 
litical  Discourses  and  the  Inquiry  concerning  the  Principles  of 
Morals.  The  appointment  of  Librarian  to  the  Faculty  of  Ad 
vocates  in  Edinburgh — the  salary  of  which  he  generously  gave 
to  the  poor  poet  Blacklock — placed  at  his  disposal  a  fine  collec 
tion  of  books ;  and  this  suggested  the  undertaking  which  has 
long  been  held  his  greatest  title  to  fame — the  History  of  Eng 
land,  the  first  volume  of  which  appeared  in  1754. 

For  the  literary  historian  there  are  two  piquant  episodes  in  the 
life  of  Hume.  The  first  is  the  ovation  given  to  the  philosopher 
in  Paris,  whither  he  had  accompanied  the  Marquis  of  Hertford  ; 
the  second  is  his  friendship  and  quarrel  with  Rousseau.  We 
cannot  pause  to  dwell  on  either. 

Hume  died  in  the  spring  of  1776,  leaving  a  name  imperish 
able  in  our  literature,  although  it  is  a  name  attached  to  opinions 
which  have  roused,  and  will  continue  to  rouse,  the  most  vehe 
ment  opposition.  It  should  never  be  forgotten,  moreover,  that, 
in  spite  of  Hume's  opinions,  so  wise  and  good  a  man  as  Adam 
Smith  could  publicly  write  of  him,  "  Upon  the  whole,  I  have 
always  considered  him,  both  during  his  lifetime  and  since  his 
death,  as  approaching  as  nearly  to  the  idea  of  a  perfectly  wise 
and  virtuous  man,  as  perhaps  the  nature  of  human  frailty  will 
permit." 


571 


8  II.  HUME'S  SKEPTICISM. 


The  marvellous  acuteness  and  subtlety  of  Hume  have  never 
been  denied  ;  and  his  influence  upon  speculation  has  been  aided 
as  much  by  the  alarm  his  doctrines  excited,  as  by  the  ingenuity 
with  which  they  were  upheld.  If  Berkeley  met  with  no  refu- 
ters,  Hume  could  meet  with  none.  Antagonists  have  generally 
been  compelled  to  admit  that  the  skeptical  reasoning  was  un 
answerable. 

Locke  had  shown  that  all  our  knowledge  was  dependent  upon 
experience.  Berkeley  had  shown  that  we  had  no  experience  of 
an  external  world  independent  of  perception ;  nor  could  we  have 
any  such  experience.  He  pronounced  matter  to  be  a  figment. 
Hume  took  up  the  line  where  Berkeley  had  cast  it,  and  flung  it 
once  more  into  the  deep  sea,  endeavoring  to  fathom  the  myste 
ries  of  being.  Probing  deeper  in  the  direction,  Berkeley  had 
taken,  he  found  that  not  only  was  Matter  a  figment,  Mind  was  a 
figment  also.  If  the  occult  substratum,  which  men  had  inferred 
to  explain  material  phenomena,  could  be  denied,  because  not 
founded  on  experience;  so  also,  said  Hume,  must  we  deny  the 
occult  substratum  (mind)  which  men  have  inferred  to  explain 
mental  phenomena.  All  that  we  have  any  experience  of,  is  im 
pressions  and  ideas.  The  substance  of  which  these  are  supposed 
to  be  impressions,  is  occult — is  a  mere  inference  ;  the  substance 
in  which  these  impressions  are  supposed  to  be,  is  equally  occult 
— is  a  mere  inference.  Matter  is  but  a  collection  of  impressions. 
Mind  is  but  a  succession  of  impressions  and  ideas.* 

Thus  was  Berkeley's  dogmatic  Idealism  converted  into  Skep 
ticism.  Hume,  speaking  of  Berkeley,  says,  "  Most  of  the  wri 
tings  of  that  very  ingenious  philosopher  form  the  best  lessons  of 
skepticism  which  are  to  be  found  either  among  the  ancient  or 

*  Locke  luid  already  shown  that  AVG  are  as  ignorant  of  spirit  as  of  sub 
stance.  We  know  mind  only  in  its  manifestation;  we  cannot  know  it  per  se 
as  a  substratum.  Hume's  argument  therefore  had  a  firm  foundation  in  phi 
losophy.  He  only  concluded  from  admitted  premises. 


572  HUME. 

modern  philosophers,  Bayle  not  excepted.  He  professes,  how 
ever,  in  his  title-page  (and  undoubtedly  with  great  truth)  to 
have  composed  his  book  against  the  Skeptics,  as  well  as  against 
the  Atheists  and  Free-thinkers.  But  that  all  his  arguments, 
though  otherwise  intended,  are  in  reality  merely  skeptical,  ap 
pears  from  this,  that  they  admit  of  no  answer,  and  produce  no 
conviction." 

Remark,  also,  that  Hume's  skepticism,  though  it  reduces  phi 
losophy  to  a  singular  dilemma,  viz.  that  of  either  refuting  the 
skeptical  arguments,  or  of  declaring  itself  and  its  pretensions  to 
be  vain  and  baseless,  nevertheless  affects  in  no  other  way  the  or 
dinary  judgments  or  actions  of  mankind.  Much  stupid  ridicule 
and  frivolous  objection  have  been,  and  probably  will  continue  to 
be,  brought  against  Hume.  Reid,  from  whom  one  might  have 
expected  something  better,  is  surprised  at  Hume's  pretending  to 
construct  a  science  upon  human  nature,  "  when  the  intention  of 
the  whole  work  is  to  show  that  there  is  neither  human  nature 
nor  science  in  the  world.  It  may,  perhaps,  be  unreasonable  to 
complain  of  this  conduct  in  an  author  who  neither  believes  his 
own  existence  nor  that  of  his  reader ;  and  therefore  could  not 
mean  to  disappoint  him,  or  laugh  at  his  credulity.  Yet  I  can 
not  imagine  that  the  author  of  the  Treatise  on  Human  Nature 
is  so  skeptical  as  to  plead  this  apology.  He  believed,  against  his 
principles,  that  he  should  be  read,  and  that  he  should  retain  his 
personal  identity,  till  he  reaped  'the  honor  and  reputation  justly 
due  to  his  metaphysical  acumen."  He  continues  further  in  this 
strain,  dragging  in  the  old  error  about  Pyrrho  having  incon 
sistently  been  roused  to  auger  by  his  cook,  "  who  probably  had 
not  roasted  his  dinner  to  his  mind,"  and  compares  this  forgetful- 
ness  to  Hume's  every  "  now  and  then  relapsing  into  the  faith  of 
the  vulgar."* 

If  this  was  meant  for  banter,  it  was  very  poor  banter ;  if  for 
argument,  it  was  pitiable.  But  if  such  arguments  appeared 

*  Inquiry,  Introd.  i.  §  5. 


HUME'S    SKEPTICISM.  573 

valid  to  a  thinker  of  Reid's  reputation,  it  is  reasonable  to  sup 
pose  that  inferior  men  may  also  receive  them  as  conclusive. 
Hume  shall,  therefore,  be  allowed  to  speak  for  himself;  and  he 
shall  speak  in  the  language  of  that  very  Treatise  on  Human 
Nature  to  which  Reid  alludes  : 

"  Should  it  be  here  asked  me  whether  I  sincerely  assent  to  this 
argument  which  I  seem  to  take  such  pains  to  inculcate,  and 
whether  I  be  really  one  of  those  skeptics  who  hold  that  all  is 
uncertain,  and  that  our  judgment  is  not  in  any  thing  possessed 
of  any  measures  of  truth  and  falsehood,  I  should  reply  that  this 
question  is  entirely  superfluous,  and  that  neither  I  nor  any  other 
person  was  ever  sincerely  and  constantly  of  that  opinion.  Na 
ture,  by  an  absolute  and  uncontrollable  necessity,  has  determined 
us  to  judge  as  well  as  to  breathe  and  feel ;  nor  can  we  any  more 
forbear  viewing  certain  objects  in  a  stronger  and  fuller  light 
upon  account  of  their  customary  connection  with  a  present  im 
pression,  than  we  can  hinder  ourselves  from  thinking  as  long  as 
we  are  awake,  or  seeing  the  surrounding  bodies  when  we  turn 
our  eyes  towards  them  in  broad  sunshine.  Whoever  has  taken 
the  pains  to  refute  the  cavils  of  this  total  skepticism,  has  really  dis 
puted  without  an  antagonist,  and  endeavored  by  arguments  to 
establish  a  faculty  which  Nature  has  antecedently  implanted  in 
the  mind  and  rendered  unavoidable. 

"My  intention,  then,  in  displaying  so  carefully  the  arguments 
of  that  fantastic  sect,  is  only  to  make  the  Reader  sensible  of  the 
truth  of  my  hypothesis,  that  all  our  reasonings  concerning  causes 
and  effects,  are  derived  from  nothing  but  custom ;  and  that  be 
lief  is  more  properly  an  act  of  the  sensitive  than  of  the  cogitative 

part  of  our  natures If  belief  were  a  simple  act  of  the 

thought,  without  any  peculiar  manner  of  conception,  or  the  ad 
dition  of  force  and  vivacity,  it  must  infallibly  destroy  itself,  and 
in  every  case  terminate  in  a  total  suspense  of  judgment.  But 
as  experience  will  sufficiently  convince  any  one,  that  although  he 
finds  no  error  in  my  arguments,  yet  he  still  continues  to  believe 
and  think  and  reason  as  usual,  he  may  safely  conclude  that  his 


574 


HUME. 


reasoning  and  belief  is  some  sensation  or  peculiar  manner  of  con 
ception,  which  'tis  impossible  for  mere  ideas  and  reflections  to 
destroy."* 

It  has  always  struck  us  as  an  illustration  of  the  great  Avant  of 
candor  displayed  by  Hume's  opponents,  that  they  never  quoted 
this  very  significant  and  explicit  passage ;  indeed,  Ave  never  re 
member  to  have  seen  the  passage  quoted  by  any  one.  Let  us 
ask,  Avhat  does  the  foregoing  declaration  amount  to,  if  not  to  the 
boasted  "  common-sense  view,"  that  our  belief  in  the  existence  of 
matter  is  instinctive,  fundamental  ?  Does  not  Dr.  Brown's  ad 
mission  that  the  skeptical  argument  is  unanswerable  as  a  mere 
play  of  reasoning,  concede  all  that  Hume  requires  1  Does  not 
Dr.  Brown's  conclusion,  that  Ave  are  thrown  upon  "irresistible 
belief"  as  our  only  refuge  against  skepticism,  equally  accord 
with  Hume's  explicit  declaration  that  we  do  believe  and  cannot 
help  believing,  though  Ave  can  give  no  reason  for  the  belief? 

"Thus  the  skeptic,"  Hume  adds  a  little  further  on,  "still  con 
tinues  to  reason  and  believe,  even  though  he  asserts  that  he  can 
not  defend  his  reason  by  reason ;  and  by  the  same  rule  he  must 
assent  to  the  principle  concerning  the  existence  of  body,  though 
he  cannot  pretend  by  any  arguments  of  philosophy  to  maintain 
its  veracity.  Nature  has  not  left  this  to  his  choice,  and  has 
doubtless  esteemed  it  an  affair  of  too  great  importance  to  be 
trusted  to  our  uncertain  reasonings  and  speculations.  We  may 
well  ask,  what  causes  induce  us  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  body? 
but  'tis  in  vain  to  ask  whether  there  be  body  or  not  ?  that  is  a 
point  Avhich  AVC  must  take  for  granted  in  all  our  reasonings." 

After  this  let  no  more  be  said  about  Hume's  practical  incon 
sequences.  Locke  before  him  had  clearly  enough  seen  and  sig 
nalized  the  impotence  of  the  attempt  to  penetrate  beyond  phe 
nomena,  and  had,  with  his  usual  calm  wisdom,  counselled  men  to 
"sit  down  in  quiet  ignorance."  He  knew  the  task  was  hopeless ; 
he  knew,  also,  that  it  was  trivial.  God  has  given  us  the  means 

*  Human  Nature,  part  iv.  §  i.  p.  250. 


575 

of  knowing  all  that  directly  concerns  us,  a  certainty  which  suf 
fices  for  all  our  wants.  With  that,  reasonable  men  will  be  con 
tent.  If  they  seek  more,  they  seek  the  impossible ;  if  they  push 
their  speculations  deeper,  they  end  in  skepticism.  It  was  the 
philosophical  mission  of  Hume  (to  adopt  a  phrase  in  vogue)  to 
show  how  inevitably  all  such  speculations,  if  consistent,  ended  in 
skepticism. 

"  Men,"  he  says,  "  are  carried  by  a  natural  instinct  or  prepos 
session  to  repose  faith  in  their  senses.  When  they  follow  this 
blind  and  powerful  instinct  of  nature,  they  always  suppose  the 
very  images  presented  to  the  senses  to  be  the  external  objects, 
and  never  entertain  any  suspicion  that  the  one  are  nothing  but 
representatives  of  the  other.  But  this  universal  and  primary 
opinion  of  all  men  is  soon  destroyed  by  the  slightest  philosophy, 
which  teaches  us  that  nothing  can  ever  be  present  to  the  mind 
but  an  image  or  perception.  So  far,  then,  we  are  necessitated  by 
reasoning  to  contradict  the  primary  instincts  of  Nature,  and  to 
embrace  a  new  system  with  regard  to  the  evidence  of  our  senses. 
But  here  philosophy  finds  herself  extremely  embarrassed,  when 
she  would  obviate  the  cavils  and  objections  of  the  skeptics.  She 
can  no  longer  plead  the  infallible  and  irresistible  instinct  of  na 
ture,  for  that  led  us  to  quite  a  different  system,  which  is  ac 
knowledged  fallible,  and  even  erroneous;  and  to  justify  this  pre 
tended  philosophical  system  by  a  chain  of  clear  and  convincing 
argument,  or  even  any  appearance  of  argument,  exceeds  the 
power  of  all  human  capacity. 

"Do  you  follow  the  instinct  and  propensities  of  nature  in  as 
senting  to  the  veracity  of  the  senses  ?  But  these  lead  you  to 
believe  that  'the  very  perception  or  sensible  image  is  the  external 
object — (Idealism). 

"  Do  you  disclaim  this  principle  in  order  to  embrace  a  more 
rational  opinion,  that  the  perceptions  are  only  representations  of 
something  external  ?  You  here  depart  from  your  natural  pro 
pensities  and  more  obvious  sentiments ;  and  yet  are  not  able  to 
satisfy  your  reason,  which  can  never  find  any  convincing  argu- 


576  HUME. 

ment  from  experience  to  prove  that  the  perceptions  are  connected 
with  external  objects" — (Skepticism). 

This  is  the  dilemma  to  which  Philosophy  is  reduced :  out  of 
it  there  is  no  escape ;  and  Hume  deserves  the  gratitude  of  man 
kind  for  having  brought  philosophy  to  this  pass.  Mankind,  how 
ever,  has  paid  him  with  reprobation.  As  the  whole  course  of 
this  History  has  been  occupied  in  tracing  the  inevitable  result  of 
all  Philosophy  to  be  precisely  this  much  abused  skepticism,  our 
readers  will  be  prepared  for  a  different  appreciation  of  Hume. 
Let  us,  therefore,  endeavor  to  define  the  nature  of  this  skepticism, 
which  has  caused  such  great  alarm.  Skepticism,  meaning  doubt, 
and  being  frequently  used  to  signify  religious  doubt,  has  alarm 
ing  associations  attached  to  it.  To  call  a  man  a  skeptic  is  to  call 
him  a  heretic.  And,  unfortunately  for  Hume's  philosophical 
reputation,  he  was  a  skeptic  in  religion  as  well  as  in  philosophy, 
and  mankind  have  consequently  identified  the  former  with  the 
latter. 

Now,  philosophical  skepticism  can  only  mean  a  doubt  as  to 
the  possibility  of  Philosophy ; — in  other  words,  a  doubt  only  on 
one  particular  subject.  If  I  accept  the  consequences  to  which 
the  doctrine  of  Hume  leads  me,  am  I  forced  to  suspend  my 
judgment,  and  to  pronounce  all  subjects  uncertain  ?  or  am  I  only 
to  pronounce  some  subjects  uncertain  ?  The  latter  is  clearly  the 
only  opinion  I  can  entertain.  What  then  are  the  questions  on 
which  I  must  be  content  to  remain  in  darkness  ?  Locke,  no  less 
than  Hume,  has  told  us  :  All  which  relate  to  Philosophy — which 
pretend  to  discuss  the  nature  and  essences  of  things. 

This  skepticism,  the  reader  must  acknowledge,  has  nothing 
very  alarming  in  it,  except  to  Philosophy.  It  is  maintained  by 
the  vast  majority  of  thinking  men — some  from  conviction,  others 
from  a  vague  sense  of  the  futility  of  ontological  speculation. 
Only  the  bad  passions  roused  in  discussion  could  pretend  to  con 
found  it  with  heresy.  This  Skepticism  indicates  the  boundaries 
of  inquiry.  It  leads  us  from  impossible  attempts  to  fly,  to  in 
struct  us  how  securely  we  may  run.  It  destroys  Philosophy 


577 

only  to  direct  all  our  energies  towards  positive  Science.  In  the 
words  of  Goethe,  "  Let  us  not  attempt  to  demonstrate  what  can 
not  be  demonstrated !  Sooner  or  later  we  shall  otherwise  make 
our  miserable  deficiencies  more  glaring  to  posterity  by  our  so- 
called  works  of  knowledge." 

Hume  was  a  skeptic ;  and,  consequently,  early  in  life  ceased 
devoting  his  marvellous  acuteness  to  any  of  the  questions  agi 
tated  in  the  schools.  His  Essays  and  his  History  were  excellent 
products  of  this  change  of  direction  ;  and  although  he  did  devote 
a  portion  of  the  Essays  to  philosophy,  yet  it  was  but  a  portion, 
and  one  which  gave  a  more  popular  and  elegant  exposition  of 
the  principles  of  his  first  work. 

§  III.  HUME'S  THEORY  OF  CAUSATION. 

It  is  customary  to  speak  of  "Hume's  theory  of  Causation," 
and  to  bestow  no  inconsiderable  acrimony  upon  him  on  its  ac 
count.  But,  in  the  first  place,  the  theory  is  not  peculiarly  his ; 
in  the  second  place,  his  application  of  it  to  the  question  of  Mir 
acles,  which  has  excited  so  much  vehement  controversy,  reduces 
itself  to  "this  very  plain  and  harmless  proposition,  that  what 
ever  is  contradictory  to  a  complete  induction  is  incredible.  That 
such  a  maxim  as  this  should  be  either  accounted  a  dangerous 
heresy,  or  mistaken  for  a  recondite  truth,  speaks  ill  for  the  state 
of  philosophical  speculation  on  such  subjects."* 

The  theory  may  be  thus  briefly  stated.  All  our  experience  of 
causation  is  simply  that  of  a  constant  succession.  An  antece 
dent  followed  by  a  sequent — one  event  followed  by  another  : 
this  is  all  that  we  experience.  We  attribute  indeed  to  the  an 
tecedent,  a  power  of  producing  or  causing  the  sequent ;  but  we 
can  have  no  experience  of  such  a  power.  If  we  believe  that  the 
fire  which  has  burned  us  will  burn  us  again,  we  believe  this  from 
habit  or  custom. ;  not  from  having  perceived  any  power  in  the 

*  Mill's  System  of  Logic,  vol.  ii.  p.  183. 


578  HUME. 

fire.  We  believe  the  future  will  resemble  the  past,  because  cus 
tom  has  taught  us  to  rely  "upon  such  a  resemblance.  "  When 
we  look  about  us  towards  external  objects,  and  consider  the 
operation  of  causes,  we  are  never  able  in  a  single  instance  to 
discover  any  power  or  necessary  connection — any  quality  which 
binds  the  effect  to  the  cause,  and  renders  the  one  an  infallible 
consequence  to  the  other.  We  only  find  that  the  one  does  ac 
tually  in  fact  follow  the  other.  The  impulse  of  one  billiard-ball 
is  attended  with  motion  in  the  second.  This  is  the  whole  that 
appears  to  the  outward  senses.  The  mind  feels  no  sentiment  or 
inward  impression  from  this  succession  of  objects ;  consequently 
there  is  not,  in  any  single  instance  of  cause  and  effect,  any  thing 
which  can  suggest  the  idea  of  power  or  necessary  connection."* 
This  is  the  whole  of  his  theory.  His  explanation  of  our  belief 
in  power,  or  necessary  connection,  is  that  it  is  a  matter  of  habit. 
I  know  not  whether  Hume  ever  read  Glanvill's  Scepsis  Scien- 
tifica.  The  title  was  one  to  attract  him.  At  any  rate,  Glanvill 
had  clearly  enough  stated  Hume's  theory,  e.  g.  "  All  knowledge 
of  causes  is  deductive ;  for  we  know  of  none  by  simple  intuition, 
but  through  the  mediation  of  their  effects.  So  that  we  cannot 
conclude  any  thing  to  be  the  cause  of  another  but  from  its  con 
tinually  accompanying  it  /  for  the  causality  itself  is  insensible" 
Malebranche  had  also  anticipated  it ;  and  so  had  Hobbes.  The 
language  indeed  of  the  latter  is  so  similar  to  the  language  em 
ployed  by  Hume,  that  I  agree  with  Dugald  Stewart  in  believing 
Hume  to  have  borrowed  it  from  Hobbes.  "  What  we  call  ex 
perience,"  says  Hobbes,  "is  nothing  else  but  remembrance  of 
what  antecedents  have  been  followed  by  what  consequents.  .  .  . 
No  man  can  have  in  his  mind  a  conception  of  the  future,  for  the 
future  is  not  yet ;  but  of  our  conceptions  of  the  past  \ve  make  a 
future,  or  rather  call  past  future  relatively.  Thus,  after  a  man 
has  been  accustomed  to  see  like  antecedents  followed  by  like 
consequents,  whensoever  he  seeth  the  like  come  to  pass  to  any 

*  £ssayx,  sect.  vii. 


HUME'S  THEORY  OF  CAUSATION.  579 

thing  he  had  seen  before,  he  looks  there  shall  follow  it  the  same 
that  followed  then." 

This  theory  of  Causation  has  been  hotly  debated,  partly  be 
cause  of  the  "  consequences"  which  some  have  seen,  with  alarm, 
to  be  deducible  from  it  (for  opinions  are  judged  of  more  by  their 
supposed  consequences  than  by  their  presumed  truth) ;  partly 
also  because  Hume  has  not  stated  it  with  the  clearness  which 
prevents  misunderstanding.  It  is  only  to  the  latter  point  we  can 
here  attend. 

When  Hume  asserts  that  experience  gives  no  intimation  of 
any  connection  between  two  events,  but  only  of  their  invariable 
conjunction, — when  he  says  that  the  mind  cannot  perceive  a 
causal  nexus,  but  only  an  invariableness  of  antecedence  and  se 
quence,  he  is  contradicted,  or  seems  to  be,  by  the  consciousness 
of  his  readers.  They  declare  that,  over  and  above  the  fact  of 
sequence,  there  is  always  an  intimation  of  power  given  in  every 
causation,  and  this  it  is  which  distinguishes  causal  from  casual 
sequence, — connection  from  mere  conjunction.  The  fire  burns 
paper  because  there  is  some  power  in  the  fire  to  effect  this 
change.  Mere  antecedence,  even  if  invariable,  cannot  be  suffi 
cient,  or  else  day  would  be  the  cause  of  night,  the  flash  of  light 
ning  would  be  the  cause  of  the  thunder-peal.  Swallows  fly  close 
to  the  earth  some  little  while  before  the  rain  falls  ;  but  no  one 
supposes  the  flight  of  the  swallows  causes  the  fall  of  the  rain. 
In  every  case  of  causation  there  must  be  an  element  of  power — a 
pacity  of  producing  the  observed  change — a  nexus  of  some  kind, 
over  and  above  the  mere  juxtaposition  of  bodies.  If  diamond 
will  cut  glass,  it  has  a  power  to  do  so ;  the  sharpest  knife  is  with 
out  this  power. 

So  reason  Hume's  antagonists.  Nor  do  I  think  they  are 
finally  answered  by  resolving  the  idea  of  power  into  mere  invari 
ableness  of  antecedent  and  sequent ;  for  they  may  reply  that  the 
"  invariableness"  itself  is  deduced  from  the  idea  of  power;  we  be 
lieve  the  fire  will  invariably  burn  the  paper  because  it  has  the 
power  to  do  so,  because  there  is  a  real  nexus  between  fire  and 


580  HUME. 

the  combustion  of  paper  ;  only  on  such  a  belief  can  our  expecta 
tion  of  the  future  resembling  the  past  be  securely  founded. 

The  ordinary  belief  of  mankind  in  the  existence  of  something 
more  than  mere  antecedence  and  consequence,  is  therefore  a  fact. 
This  fact  Hume  and  others  omit.  Because  they  cannot  perceive 
the  power,  they  declare  that  we  have  no  belief  in  it.  Hume  in 
sists  upon  the  impossibility  of  our  perceiving  power — of  our  per 
ceiving  any  necessary  connection  between  two  events.  But,  say 
those  who  oppose  this  theory,  "  Although  we  cannot  perceive  the 
power,  we  are  forced  to  believe  in  it ;  and  this  belief  is  not  a  mat 
ter  of  custom,  but  is  given  in  the  very  facts  of  consciousness. 
We  perceive  that  some  power  is  at  work  producing  effects  ;  the 
precise  nature  of  this  power,  indeed,  we  cannot  perceive,  because 
we  never  can  know  things  per  se.  When  a  spark  ignites  gun 
powder,  we  perceive  a  power  in  the  spark  to  ignite  "gunpowder : 
what  that  power  is,  we  know  not ;  we  only  know  its  effects. '  But 
our  ignorance  is  equally  great  of  the  gunpowder :  what  it  is  we 
know  not ;  we  only  know  its  appearances  to  us.  It  might  as 
well  be  said  that  we  believe  in  the  gunpowder  from  custom 
(since  we  really  know  nothing  of  it  per  se),  as  that  we  believe  in 
the  power  of  the  spark  to  ignite  gunpowder  from  custom,  since 
we  really  know  nothing  of  power  per  se.  We  know  nothing 
per  se" 

I  have  marshalled  the  arguments,  with  as  much  force  as  I 
could  muster,  into  so  small  a  field,  in  order  to  bring  into  appre 
ciable  distinctness  the  source  of  the  opposition  to  Hume's  theory 
on  the  part  of  many  who  have  no  doctrinal  distrust  towards  it. 
Before  attempting  an  elucidation  of  the  difficulty,  it  will  be  need 
ful  to  consider  the  grounds  of  our  belief  in  causation*  As  it  is  a 
fact  that  all  men  believe  in  some  power  involved  in  every  causal 
act,  we  have  to  ask,  Is  that  belief  well  founded  ? 

Two  schools  at  once  present  themselves.  The  one  (that  of 
Hume)  declares  that  the  belief  has  no  good  grounds ;  it  is  a 
matter  of  custom.  If  I  believe  the  sun  will  rise  to-morrow,  it  is 
because  it  has  always  risen.  If  I  believe  that  fire  will  burn  in 


581 

future,  it  is  because  it  has  always  burned.     From  habit  I  expect 
the  future  will  resemble  the  past :  "I  have  no  proof  of  it. 

The  other  school  declares  that  this  belief  in  causation  "  is  an 
intuitive  conviction  that  the  future  will  resemble  the  past."  This 
is  the  language  of  Reid  and  Stewart.  Dr.  Whewell  would  have 
us  admit  the  belief  as  a  fundamental  idea — a  necessary  truth  in 
dependent  of  and  superior  to  all  experience. 

Both  explanations  we  take  to  be  very  incompetent.  Custom 
or  habit  can  essentially  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it,  be 
cause  our  belief  is  as  strong  from  a  single  instance  as  from  a 
thousand.  "  When  many  uniform  instances  appear,"  says  Hume, 
"  and  the  same  object  is  always  followed  by  the  same  event,  we 
then  begin  to  entertain  the  notion  of  cause  and  connection.  We 
then  feel  a  new  sentiment,  to  wit,  a  customary  connection  in  the 
thought  between  one  object  and  its  usual  attendant ;  and  this 
sentiment  is  the  original  of  that  idea  which  we  seek  for."  This 
is  manifestly  wrong.  A  single  instance  of  one  billiard-ball  mov 
ing  another,  suffices  to  originate  the  "sentiment,"  without  further 
repetition.  Nor  is  there  more  truth  in  the  assertion  that  the  be 
lief  depends  on  "  conviction  of  the  future  resembling  the  past ;" 
this  explanation  assumes  that  the  general  idea  precedes  the  par 
ticular  idea.  If  we  believe  that  similar  effects  will  follow  when 
ever  the  same  causes  are  in  operation — if  we  believe  that  fire  will 
burn,  or  that  the  sun  will  rise  to-morrow — we  are  simply  believing 
in  our  experience,  and  nothing  more.  We  cannot  hejp  .Relieving 
in  our  experience  ;  that  is  irresistible :  but  in  this  belief,  the  idea 
of  either  past  or  future  does  not  enter.  I  do  not  believe  that 
fire  will  burn  because  I  believe  that  the  future  will  resemble  the 
past,  but  simply  Because  my  experience  of  fire  is  that  it  burns — 
that  it  has  the  power  to  burn.  Take  a  simple  illustration,  trivial, 
if  you  will,  but  illustrative  : — A  child  is  presented  with  a  bit  of 
sugar :  the  sugar  is  white,  of  a  certain  shape,  and  is  solid  ;  his 
experience  of  the  sugar  is  confined  to  these  properties  :  he  puts 
it  in  his  mouth  ;  it  is  sweet,  pleasant :  his  experience  is  extend 
ed  ;  the  sugar  he  now  believes  (knows)  to  be  sweet  and  pleasant, 


582  HUME. 

as  well  as  white  and  solid.*  Thus  far  experience  is  not  tran 
scended.  Some  days  later,  another  piece  of  sugar  is  given  him. 
Is  it  now  necessary  for  him  to  have  any  "  intuitive  conviction 
that  the  future  will  resemble  the  past" — any  fundamental  idea 
independent  of  experience — to  make  him  believe  that  if  he  puts 
the  sugar  in  his  mouth  it  will  taste  sweet  ?  Not  in  the  least : 
he  believes  it  is  sweet,  because  he  knows  it  is  sweet — because 
his  experience  of  sugar  is  that  it  is  sweet.  By  no  effort  could 
he  divest  himself  of  the  idea  of  its  sweetness,  because  sweetness 
forms  an  integral  part  of  his  idea  of  the  sugar.  So  we  may  say 
of  the  sun's  rising  :  it  is  part  and  parcel  of  our  idea  of  the 
sun.  So  of  one  billiard-ball  putting  a  second  in  motion  :  our 
experience  of  billiard-balls  is  that  they  put  each  other  in  mo 
tion. 

Custom  has  primarily  nothing  to  do  with  the  belief.  If  we 
had  only  one  experience  of  fire — if  we  saw  it  only  once  applied 
to  a  combustible  substance — we  should  believe  that  it  would 
burn,  because  our  idea  of  fire  would  be  the  idea  of  a  thing  which 
burns.  Custom  has  however,  secondarily,  some  influence  in  cor 
recting  the  tendency  to  attribute  properties  to  things.  Thus,  a 
child  sees  a  friend  who  gives  him  an  apple.  The  next  time  the 
friend  comes  he  is  asked  for  an  apple,  because  the  idea  of  this 
friend  is  of  a  man  who,  amongst  other  properties,  has  that  of 
giving  apples.  No  apple  is  given,  and  this  idea  is  destroyed. 
Similarly,  when  all  our  experience  of  things  is  confirmatory  of 
our  first  experience,  we  may  say  that  habit  or  custom  induces  us 
to  attribute  certain  effects  to  certain  causes.  When  our  subse 
quent  experience  contradicts  our  first  experience,  we  cease  to  at 
tribute  those  effects  to  those  causes  which  we  "first  experienced  ; 

*  It  will  perhaps  seem  strange  that  we  should  select  sweetness  as  an  ex 
ample  of  causation.  We  selected  it  for  its  simplicity.  No  one  will  deny 
that  the  taste  of  sweetness  is  as  much  an  effect  caused  by  the  sugar  as  pain 
is  an  effect  caused  by  fire.  But  people  are  apt  to  overlook  that  causation  is 
the  result  of  the  properties  of  one  body  acting  upon  the  properties  of  an 
other.  They  would  call  sweetness  a  quality  in  sugar  :  but  the  motion  of  a 
billiard-ball  they  say  is  caused  by  another  ball. 


583 

this  is  only  saying  that  our  subsequent  experience  has  destroyed 
or  altered  the  idea  we  formed  at  first. 

Remark  how  much  confusion  is  spread  over  this  subject  by 
the  inconsiderate  introduction  of  the  word  belief.  It  is  incor 
rect  to  say  that  a  man  believes  that  fire,  will  burn  him  if  he  puts 
his  finger  in  it ;  he  knows  it.  He  will  believe  that  it  has  burned 
some  one  else — he  will  believe  in  a  proposition  you  make  about 
fire,  because  belief  is  the  assent  to  propositions :  but  to  talk  of 
his  believing  that  sugar  will  be  sweet,  when  he  knows  it  is  sweet, 
when  he  cannot  think  of  it  otherwise  than  as  sweet ;  or  that  fire 
will  burn  when  he  knows  it  burns,  is  as  improper  as  to  say  that 
he  believes  himself  cold  when  he  is  cold. 

Only  from  this  improper  use  of  the  word  belief  could  the 
theory  of  fundamental  ideas,  or  of  "an  intuitive  conviction  that 
the  future  will  resemble  the  past,"  have  stood  its  ground  for  a 
moment.  If  the  proposition  "Fire  will  burn  paper"  were  put  to 
any  one,  he  would  unquestionably  believe  it,  because  he  has  no 
other  knowledge  of  the  fire  under  those  circumstances.  The 
proposition  is  as  evident  to  him  as  that  two  and  two  make  four. 
Although,  therefore,  he  may  be  said  to  believe  in  the  proposition, 
"  Fire  will  burn  paper,"  he  cannot  properly  be  said  to  act  upon 
belief  when  he  attempts  to  light  paper  :  he  acts  upon  his  knowl 
edge.  Metaphysicians  argue  as  if  the  belief  in  the  immediate 
result  of  an  action  were  a  belief  in  some  implied  proposition  about 
the  course  of  nature.  It  is  really  a  reliance  upon  experience  ; 
nothing  more. 

It  is  necessary  to  distinguish  between  belief  in  existence,  and 
belief  in  propositions.  It  is  inaccurate  to  say  a  man  believes  in 
his  own  existence,  as  if  that  were  similar  to  his  belief  in  a  propo 
sition.  But  though  a  man  cannot  believe  in  his  own  existence, 
simply  because  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  conceive  himself  as 
non-existent,  he  may  believe  that  he  will  exist  eternally,  because 
that  is  a  proposition,  the  converse  of  which  is  conceivable  and 
maintainable. 

The  primordial  act  of  all  thinking  whatever,  is,  as  I  have  ex- 


584:  HUME. 

plained  in  the  Introduction  to  this  History,  the  making  present 
to  the  mind  of  what  is  absent  from  the  sense ;  and  this,  which 
connects  all  intellectual  phenomena  into  one  class,  renders  the 
accurate  demarcation  of  them  sometimes  impossible^  so  insensi 
bly  does  the  one  pass  into  the  other.  Thus  when  I  say,  "  I  see 
it  has  rained,"  because  the  wet  streets  make  me  infer  that  the 
wetness  was  caused  by  rain,  my  assertion  is  grounded  on  a  men 
tal  re-presentation  of  the  absent  occurrence,  precisely  analogous 
to  that  which  takes  place  when  I  infer  the  sweetness  of  the  sugar 
before  me,  or  perceive  that  the  flower  in  Julia's  hair  is  a  rose,  or 
believe  that  the  paper  she  holds  close  to  the  candle  will  infallibly 
ignite  if  paper  and  flame  come  in  contact.  In  each  case  the  in 
ference,  perception,  or  belief,  is  the  re-presentation  of  facts  form 
erly  present  in  my  experience  of  rain,  sugar,  roses,  and  candles. 
Whenever  I  forget  any  of  the  attendant  facts,  i.  e.  fail  to  make 
them  present,  I  can  only  form  an  incomplete  conception  of  the 
thing  about  which  I  reason,  or  infer.  Bad  logic  is  imperfect  re 
presentation.  In  proportion  to  the  complexity  of  a  proposition 
will  be  the  liability  to  error,  because  of  the  liability  to  suffer 
some  of  the  attendant  facts  to  drop  out  of  sight.  Thus  the  prop 
osition  "Fire  will  burn  paper"  is  so  simple,  and  accordant  with 
daily  experience,  that  assent  to  it  is  instantaneous  ;  but  the  prop 
osition  "  Human  life  may  extend  over  two  centuries"  is  one  im 
plying  so  many  facts  which  cannot  be  made  present  to  the  mind, 
because  not  lying  within  familiar  experience,  that  instead  of  as 
sent  it  produces  denial,  or  at  least  doubt,  which  is  suspension  of 
belief,  which  again  is  the  confessed  inability  to  make  all  the  facts 
present  to  the  mind.  That  "  two  and  two  make  four"  is  the  im 
mediate  and  irresistible  conclusion  of  every  educated  man  ;  never 
theless,  this  very  man  would  pause  before  assenting  to  the  prop 
osition  "  Eight  times  three  hundred  and  ninety-six,  make  three 
thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight,"  because  he  would  have 
to  make  present  to  his  mind  the  successive  steps  of  the  calcula 
tion,  and  this  would  demand  an  effort,  great  in  proportion  to  his 
want  of  familiarity  with  calculations. 


HUME'S  THEORY  OF  CAUSATION.  585 

In  spite  of  this  identity  of  belief  and  perception,  it  is  necessary 
for  the  perspicuity  of  discussion  to  discriminate  the  two,  and  I 
propose  therefore  to  restrict  the  term  belief  to  the  assent  to  prop 
ositions,  and  demarcate  it  from  those  direct  inferences  which 
are  made  in  the  presence  of  objects  and  have  reference  to  them. 
I  would  say,  we  believe  in  the  proposition  "  Fire  burns,"  but 
know  the  fact  that  the  paper  about  to  be  thrust  into  flame  will 
ignite.  Such  a  discrimination  of  terms  will  be  found  useful  in 
discussing  causation.  We  shall  thus  see  in  what  respect  assent 
to  a  proposition,  complex  in  its  elements,  differs  from  the  "  prac 
tical  belief"  of  mankind  in  particular  facts — we  shall  separate 
the  belief  of  the  philosopher  in  the  proposition  "Every  effect 
must  have  a  cause,"  from  the  belief  of  the  child  that  the  fire, 
which  yesterday  burned  paper,  will  burn  it  to-day.  Both  beliefs 
are  grounded  on  and  limited  by  experience ;  but  the  experience 
of  the  philosopher  is  distinguished  from  that  of  the  child  by  its 
greater  accumulation  of  analogous  facts.  The  "  necessity"  and 
"universality"  which,  according  to  Kant  and  Dr.  Whewell,  dis 
tinguish  the  philosophical  conception,  and  raise  it  above  experi 
ence,  will  be  considered  hereafter.  For  the  present  it  is  enough 
if  we  have  reduced  belief  in  causation  (or  in  power)  to  experience 
of  a  direct  kind,  not  separable  from  any  other  intellectual  act, 
but  allied  to  all  other  acts  in  being  the  mental  re-presentation  of 
phenomena  formerly  present  in  experience.  And  this  will  help 
us,  perhaps,  to  reconcile  the  combatants  who  quarrel  over  the 
idea  of  "  power"  in  causation. 

Thus  while  it  will  be  admitted  by  the  one  party  that  between 
two  events,  named  respectively  cause  and  effect,  no  nexus  is  per 
ceived  by  us,  over  and  above  the  mere  fact  of  antecedence  and 
sequence  ;  and  that  therefore  Hume  is  right  in  saying — we  only 
perceive  this  antecedence,  and  do  not  perceive  the  causal  link ; 
on  the  other  hand  it  must  be  maintained,  that  between  those 
two  events  there  is  a  specific  relation,  a  something  which  makes 
the  one  succeed  the  other,  causing  this  particular  effect  rather 
than  another ;  and  this  subtle  link  it  is  which  is  the  nexus  con- 

25* 


586  HUME. 

tended  for ;  this  relation  it  is  which  distinguishes  a  casual  act 
from  one  of  accidental  sequence.  There  must  be  a  peculiar  rela 
tion,  or  property,  existing  between  oxygen  and  metals,  otherwise 
metals  never  could  be  oxidized.  The  oxidation  of  iron  is  an 
effect  like  the  ignition  of  paper ;  but  it  is  an  effect  producible 
only  through  a  specific  relation  or  cause.  To  say  that  we  can 
not  know  this  cause,  cannot  perceive  this  relation,  and  that 
antecedence  and  sequence  are  all  that  we  can  perceive,  is  only 
saying  that  we  cannot  penetrate  beyond  phenomena  and  their 
successions  ;  but  this  is  no  more  a  ground  for  the  denial  of  a 
causal  nexus,  than  it  is  for  the  denial  of  an  external  world. 

All  things  necessarily  stand  related  to  all  other  things :  some 
times  these  relations  are  obtruded  on  our  notice,  because  they 
pass  from  relations  of  coexistence  into  relations  of  succession,  and 
we  name  them  causes  and  effects ;  at  other  times  they  remain  in 
the  background  of  unremarked  coexistence,  and  our  unsolicited 
attention  overlooks  them ;  we  do  not  then  name  them  cause  and 
effect.  The  carbonate  of  lime,  which  I  see  before  me  as  marble, 
suggests  to  me  in  its  inaction,  no  conception  of  power,  or  caus 
ation,  because  my  attention  is  not  solicited  by  any  successive  re 
lations  ;  yet,  if  I  had  witnessed  the  action  of  the  carbonic  acid 
on  the  lime,  which  originally  caused  the  two  substances  to  unite 
and  form  marble,  the  passage  from  one  state  to  another  would 
have  suggested  the  idea  of  some  power  at  work.  It  is  clear  that 
there  must  be  relations  existing  between  the  carbonic  acid  and 
the  lime,  which  cause  the  two  to  remain  united,  as  we  see  them 
in  marble.  We  do  not  see  these  relations — we  do  not,  therefore, 
see  the  cause — but  we  know  the  cause  must  be  in  operation  all 
the  while,  although,  in  consequence  of  no  changes  taking  place, 
we  are  not  solicited  to  observe  the  operation.  Hence  it  is  that 
only  successive  phenomena  are  named  causal ;  and  hence  is  it 
that  Hume  was  right  in  saying  that  en  dcrniere  analyse,  invari- 
ableness  of  antecedence  and  sequence  is  all  that  experience  tells 
us  of  causation ;  although  he  aid  not,  I  think,  state  his  position 
clearly,  nor  discern  its  real  basis. 


587 

This  conception  of  causation,  as  the  direct  relation  between 
any  two  phenomena,  whether  coexistent  or  successive,  accords 
with  the  fact  that  what  is  called  the  effect  is  itself  but  the  union 
of  two  causes — the  oxygen  and  the  metal  co-operate  to  form  an 
oxide ;  the  group  of  facts  which  we  designate  as  the  antecedent, 
combines  with  the  group  of  facts  called  the  sequent ;  as  when  we 
say  that  "  Henry  I.  died  of  eating  lampreys ;"  by  which  we  mean, 
that  in  a  certain  condition  of  his  organism  the  introduction  of 
lampreys  was  the  antecedent  to  a  whole  series  of  sequences  ter 
minating  in  death;  although  we  are  perfectly  aware  that  the 
salmon  was  not  the  "  cause,"  but  only  one  integer  in  the  sum  of 
causes.  The  difficulty  in  fixing  upon  a  true  cause  is  this  very 
complexity  of  relations :  only  when  we  can  be  said  to  know  all 
the  elements  of  a  group,  can  we  isolate  one  to  estimate  its  in 
fluence. 

I  have  endeavored  to  reconcile  the  two  contending  parties  on 
this  perplexing  question,  and  for  all  further  discussion  must  refer 
to  John  Mill's  chapter  in  his  System  of  Logic,  where,  however, 
there  is  a  passage  which  seems  to  me  quite  contrary  to  the  doc 
trine  he  upholds.  I  allude  to  his  strictures  on  the  dogma  cessante 
causa  cessat  et  effectus.  "  A  coup  de  soleil  gives  a  man  a  brain- 
fever  :  will  the  fever  go  off  as  soon  as  he  is  moved  out  of  the 
sunshine  ?  A  sword  is  run  through  his  body  :  must  the  sword 
remain  in  his  body  in  order  that  he  may  continue  dead  ?"* 
Surely  this  argument  is  tenable  only  by  those  who  confound  a 
cause  with  the  whole  group  of  conditions  which  precede,  and  the 
effect  with  the  whole  group  of  conditions  which  succeed;  and 
is  not  tenable  by  those  who  hold  that  cause  and  effect  are  simply 
antecedent  and  sequent.  The  solar  rays  striking  on  the  man's 
head  produce  a  disturbance  in  the  circulation,  which  in  its  turn 
becomes  the  antecedent  to  a  congestion  of  the  blood-vessels  in  the 
brain,  which  becomes  a  brain-fever ;  instead  of  one  succession  of 
cause  and  effect,  we  have  here  a  series  of  such  successions ;  and 

*  Vol.  i.  p.  413. 


588  HUME. 

if  we  could  analyze  the  various  stages  of  the  sun-stroke,  we 
should  find  that  each  effect  did  cease  on  the  cessation  of  the 
cause ;  indeed,  if  an  effect  be  nothing  but  the  sequent  of  an  an 
tecedent — and  not  the  product  of  some  creative  power  in  the 
cause — it  must  depend  for  its  existence  on  the  presence  of  the 
antecedent. 

Hume's  theory  of  causation  set  Kant  speculating  on  the  con 
stituent  elements  of  cognition ;  but  before  we  follow  out  the  de 
velopment  of  Philosophy  in  that  direction,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
trace  the  further  development  of  Locke's  influence  in  other  di 
rections. 


SIXTH  EPOCH. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  KNOWLEDGE  REFERRED  TO  SENSATION  BY 
THE  CONFUSION  OF  THOUGHT  WITH  FEELING :  THE  SEN 
SATIONAL  SCHOOL. 


CHAPTER  I. 
CONDILLAC. 

§  I.   LIFE  OF  CONDILLAC. 

ETIENNE  DE  CONDILLAC  was  born  at  Grenoble,  in  1715.  His 
life  was  passed  mainly  in  study,  and  was  not  varied  by  any  of 
those  incidents  which  give  interest  and  romance  to  biography. 
He  published  his  first  work,  Essai  sur  F  Origine  des  Connoissances 
Humaines,  in  1746.  Three  years  after,  his  Traite  des  Systemes. 
His  other  works  followed  rapidly ;  and  established  for  him  such 
a  reputation,  that  he  was  appointed  tutor  to  the  Prince  of  Parma, 
and  for  whose  instruction  he  wrote  the  Cours  d'Etudes.  In 
1768  the  capricious  doors  of  the  Academie  Franchise  were 
opened  to  him  ;  but  once  elected  a  member,  he  never  after  at 
tended  any  of  its  sittings.  He  published  his  Logique  in  his  old 
age,  and  left  behind  him  his  Langue  des  Calculs,  He  died  in 
1780. 

§  II.   CoNDiLLAcrs  SYSTEM. 

We  have  seen  how  Idealism  and  skepticism  grew  out  of  the 
doctrines  respecting  the  origin  of  knowledge.  We  have  now  to 
see  the  growth  of  the  "  Sensational  School." 

The  success  which  Locke  met  with  in  France  is  well  known. 


590  CONDILLAC. 

For  a  whole  century  the  countrymen  of  Descartes  extolled  the 
English  philosopher,  little  suspecting  how  that  philosopher  would 
have  disclaimed  their  homage,  could  he  have  witnessed  it.  Con- 
dillac  is  the  acknowledged  representative  of  Locke  in  France. 
When  his  first  work,  entitled  Essai  sur  V  Oriyine  des  Connois- 
sances  Humaines,  appeared,  he  had  no  notion  of  simplifying 
Locke  by  reducing  all  Knowledge  to  Sensation.  He  was  a 
modest  Lockeist,  and  laid  down  as  the  fundamental  principle, 
that  "  sensations  and  the  operations  of  the  mind  are  the  mate 
rials  of  all  our  knowledge — materials  which  reflection  sets  in  ac 
tion  by  seeking  their  combinations  and  relations."  (Chap.  i.  §  5.) 
In  1754  appeared  his  celebrated  work,  the  Traite  des  Sensa 
tions.  In  it  he  quits  Locke's  principle  for  that  of  Gassendi  and 
Hobbes.  "  The  chief  object  of  this  work,"  he  says,  "  is  to  show 
how  all  our  knowledge  and  all  our  faculties  are  derived  from  the 
senses ;  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  from  sensations."  The  in 
clusion  of  "our  faculties,"  as  well  as  our  ideas,  in  this  sensuous 
origin,  is,  however,  due  entirely  to  Condillac.  Ilobbes  never 
thought  of  such  a  "  simplification."  The  divergence  from  Locke 
is  obvious  :  instead  of  the  two  sources  of  ideas,  recognized  in  the 
Essay  on  Human  Understanding,  it  assumes  one  source  only — 
Sensation ;  instead  of  mind,  with  certain  elementary  faculties,  it 
assumes  one  elementary  faculty — that  of  Sensibility — out  of 
which  all  the  faculties  are  evolved  by  the  action  of  external  ob 
jects  on  the  senses.  Nor  was  this  a  mere  slip  of  Condillac's  pen : 
the  error  is  radical ;  it  constitutes  the  peculiarity  of  his  system. 
Speaking  of  various  philosophers,  and  quoting,  with  praise,  the 
maxim  attributed  to  Aristotle,  that  "Nothing  is  in  the  intellect 
which  was  not  previously  in  the  senses,"  he  adds,  "  Immediately 
after  Aristotle  comes  Locke ;  for  the  other  philosophers  who  have 
written  on  this  subject  are  not  worthy  of  mention.  This  Eng 
lishman  has  certainly  thrown  great  light  on  the  subject,  but  he 
has  left  some  obscurity.  .  .  .  All  the  faculties  of  the  soul  ap 
peared  to  him  to  be  innate  qualities,  and  he  never  suspected  they 
might  be  derived  from  sensation  itself." 


CONDILLAC'S   SYSTEM.  591 

Certainly,  Locke  never  suspected  any  thing  of  the  kind,  and 
would  loudly  have  repudiated  it,  had  any  one  suggested  such  a 
simplification  of  the  psychological  problem.  He  might  have 
asked  Condillac,  why  is  it  no  Ape  having  the  five  senses  of  Man 
has  ever  yet  been  educated  as  a  Man  ?  and  if  faculties  are  noth 
ing  but  sensations,  why  are  the  faculties  of  the  Ape  so  remark 
ably  inferior,  when  the  senses,  some  of  them  at  least,  are  so 
remarkably  superior  to  those  of  Man  ?  We  find,  on  the  one 
hand,  animals  having  senses  like  those  of  man,  but  not  having 
the  faculties  of  man ;  we  find,  on  the  other  hand,  men  deficient 
in  certain  senses — sight,  hearing,  taste,  or  smell — who,  so  far 
from  being  deficient  in  mental  faculties,  are  remarkable  for  their 
high  endowments :  a  striking  example  of  which  is  the  case  of 
Laura  Bridgman,  born  blind,  deaf,  and  dumb.  Nay,  among  men 
having  all  the  senses  in  activity,  we  find  the  greatest  disparities 
in  mental  faculty;  and  we  do  not  find  that  the  men  whose  sen 
ses  are  the  most  susceptible  and  active,  are  the  men  whose  intel 
lectual  faculties  are  the  most  developed ;  which  is  strange,  if  the 
faculties  are  nothing  but  sensations.  How  does  Condillac  ex 
plain  the  familiar  fact  of  Idiots  being  in  full  possession  of  their 
senses  ?  When  he  makes  his  famous  Statue  grow  into  an  Intel 
ligence,  by  the  gradual  evolution  of  one  sense  after  the  other,  it 
never  occurs  to  him  that  he  tacitly  admits  the  presence  of  the 
very  mind  which  is  said  to  be  evolved ;  since  in  the  absence  of 
that  mind  the  senses  will  not  elevate  the  statue  one  inch  above 
idiocy. 

Had  Condillac  been  surveying  the  animal  series,  and  endeavor 
ing  to  trace  the  gradual  development  of  Sensibility  throughout 
that  series,  he  might  have  maintained,  with  some  philosophical 
cogency,  that  the  various  faculties  were  the  derivative  products 
of  sensation.  But  he  had  no  such  conception.  He  looked  upon 
the  mind  as  a  tabula  rasa,  a  blank  page  on  which  sensations  wrote 
certain  characters;  and  instead  of  regarding  the  mind  in  the 
light  of  an  organism,  the  food  of  which  was  furnished  by  the 
senses,  he  regarded  it  as  a  simple  granary,  in  which  the  grain,  on 


592  CONDILLAC. 

entering,  "transformed  itself"  into  bread,  oven,  and  baker.  He 
thought  the  senses  created  the  faculties  and  were  the  faculties. 
He  might  as  well  have  said  that  exercise  creates  the  faculty  of 
running.  The  child  cannot  run  till  he  has  exercised  his  limbs; 
but  the  exercise  does  not  give  him  the  limbs,  it  only  calls  them 
into  action. 

Condillac  is  right  in  saying  that  we  are  not  born  with  the 
mental  faculties  developed  (a  point  to  be  touched  upon  here 
after),  but  he  is  wrong  in  saying  that  these  faculties  are  only 
sensations.  And  when  he  endeavored  to  construct  the  mind  and 
its  faculties  out  of  transformed  sensations,  he  never  once  sus 
pected  that  the  faculty  of  transformation — that  which  transforms 
— could  not  be  itself  a  sensation.  It  is  very  easy  to  imagine 
transformed  sensations ;  but  the  sensations  do  not,  we  presume, 
transform  themselves.  What  is  it  that  transforms  them  ?  The 
mind?  Not  so.  The  mind  is  the  aggregate  of  our  mental 
states,  faculties,  etc. ;  the  mind  is  made  up  of  "  transformed  sen 
sations,"  and  cannot,  therefore,  be  the  transforming  power.  We 
return  to  the  charge,  and  demand,  What  is  it  which  trans 
forms?  Condillac  has  no  answer.  All  he  can  say  is,  what  he 
says  over  and  over  again,  that  our  faculties  are  transformed  sen 
sations.  Hear  him : 

"  Locke  distinguishes  two  sources  of  ideas,  sense  and  reflection. 
It  would  be  more  exact  to  recognize  but  one ;  first,  because  re 
flection  is,  in  its  principle,  nothing  but  sensation  itself;  secondly, 
because  it  is  less  a  source  of  ideas  than  a  canal  through  which 
they  flow  from  sense. 

"  This  inexactitude,  slight  as  it  may  seem,  has  thrown  much 
obscurity  over  his  system.  He  contents  himself  with  recognizing 
that  the  soul  perceives,  thinks,  doubts,  believes,  reasons,  wills, 
reflects ;  that  we  are  convinced  of  the  existence  of  these  opera 
tions,  because  we  find  them  in  ourselves,  and  they  contribute  to 
the  progress  of  our  knowledge;  but  he  did  not  perceive  the  ne 
cessity  of  discovering  their  origin  and  the  principle  of  their  gen 
eration — he  did  not  suspect  that  they  might  only  be  acquired 


593 

habits ;  lie  seems  to  have  regarded  them  as  innate,  and  lie  says 
only  that  they  may  be  perfected  by  exercise."* 

This  is  far  enough  from  Locke,f  who  would  have  been  amazed 
to  hear  that  "judgment,  reflection,  the  passions,  in  a  word,  all 
the  faculties  of  the  mind,  are  nothing  but  sensation  which  trans 
forms  itself  differently  (qui  se  transforme  differemment)." 

As  it  is  curious  to  see  how  sensation  transforms  itself  into  these 
faculties,  we  will  translate  Condillac's  account.  "If  a  multitude 
of  sensations  operate  at  the  same  time  with  the  same  degree  of 
vivacity,  or  nearly  so,  man  is  then  only  an  animal  that  feels ;  ex 
perience  suffices  to  convince  us  that  then  the  multitude  of  im 
pressions  takes  away  all  activity  from  the  mind.  But  let  only 
one  sensation  subsist,  or  without  entirely  dismissing  the  others, 
let  us  only  diminish  their  force ;  the  mind  is  at  once  occupied 
more  particularly  with  the  sensation  which  preserves  its  vivacity, 
and  that  sensation  becomes  attention,  without  its  being  necessary 
for  us  to  suppose  any  thing  else  in  the  mind.  If  a  new  sensation 
acquire  greater  vivacity  than  the  former,  it  will  become  in  its 
turn  attention.  But  the  greater  the  force  which  the  former  had, 
the  deeper  the  impression  made  on  us,  and  the  longer  it  is  pre 
served.  Experience  proves  this.  Our  capacity  of  sensation  is 
therefore  divided  into  the  sensation  we  have  had,  and  the  sensa 
tion  which  we  now  have ;  we  perceive  them  both  at  once,  but 
we  perceive  them  differently :  the  one  seems  as  past,  the  other 
as  present.  The  name  of  sensation  designates  the  impression 
actually  made  upon  our  senses;  and  it  takes  that  of  memory 
when  it  presents  itself  to  us  as  a  sensation  which  has  formerly 
been  felt.  Memory,  therefore,  is  only  the  transformed  sensation. 
When  there  is  double  attention,  there  is  comparison ;  for  to  be 

*  E.ctrait  raissonne  du,  Traite  des  Sensations  :  CEuvres  de  Gondlllac  (1803), 
iv.  13. 

t  It  would  be  idle  to  refute  here  the  vulgar  notion  that  Condillac  perfected 
Locke's  principles ;  or,  as  M.  Cousin  absurdly  says,  that  Locke's  Essay  was 
the  rough  sketch  (ebaudie)  of  which  the  Traite  dcs  Sensations  is  the  per 
fected  picture  ;  such  a  notion  can  be  entertained  only  by  those  who  blindly 
accept  traditionary  judgments.  The  brief  exposition  we  shall  give  of  Coii- 
dillac  is  a  sufficient  answer  to  all  svsch  assertion*. 


594  CONDILLAC. 

attentive  to  two  ideas  or  to  compare  them,  is  the  same  thing. 
But  we  cannot  compare  them  without  perceiving  some  difference 
or  some  resemblance  between  them :  to  perceive  such  relations, 
is  to  judge.  The  acts  of  comparing  and  judging  are  therefore 
only  attention ;  it  is  thus  that  sensation  becomes  successively  at 
tention,  comparison,  judgment." 

The  other  faculties  are  explained  in  a  similar  way,  but  we 
need  quote  no  more.  That  such  a  system  should  ever  have  at 
tained  the  favor  it  did,  is  a  striking  example  of  the  facility  with 
which  men  may  be  misled  by  an  artful  use  of  words. 

Condillac  said  that  science  is  only  a  well-constructed  language 
(une  langue  bien  faite) ;  so  much  did  he  rely  upon  precision  in 
words.  Nor  is  this  inexplicable  in  a  man  who  fancied  he  had  re 
duced  the  analysis  of  mind  to  its  simplest  elements  by  merely 
naming  them  differently.  It  is,  however,  as  absurd  to  call  ideas 
sensations  because  the  ideas  were  originated  by  sensations,  as  it 
would  be  to  call  reasoning  observation,  because  reasoning  is 
founded  on  observation.  The  only  excuse  for  the  error  is  in  the 
common,  but  false,  supposition  that  ideas  are  faint  impressions. 
They  are  not  impressions  at  all.  Condillac  says  that  an  idea  is 
a  remembered  sensation,  and  this  remembrance  is  only  a  lesser 
degree  of  vivacity  in  the  sensation.  We  answer  that  the  idea  is 
nothing  of  the  kind ;  so  far  from  being  the  sensation  in  a  lesser 
degree,  it  is  not  the  sensation  at  all ;  it  is  altogether  different 
from  the  sensation.  Although  every  man  who  has  experienced 
toothache,  can  have  a  very  distinct  idea  of  it  (in  other  words,  he 
can  think  of,  and  talk  of  toothache),  we  defy  him  to  detect  in 
his  idea  any  repetition  of  the  sensation.  Nor  is  this  wonderful ; 
sensation  is  the  product  of  a  distinct  part  of  the  nervous  system, 
the  senses;  ideas  are  the  product  of  another  distinct  part  of 
the  nervous  system,  the  cerebrum  :  sensation  is  feeling,  thought 
is  thinking.  To  suppose  feeling  and  thinking  are  the  same  (al 
though  both  may  come  under  the  term  feeling,  by  giving  the 
word  some  new  general  signification),  is  an  absurdity  reserved 
for  the  Sensational  School,  the  last  and  not  the  least  illustrious 


595 

of  whom,  M.  Destutt  de  Tracy,  consolidated  it  into  an  aphorism  : 
penser  c'est  sentir. 

The  ambiguities  of  language  have  in  this  case  been  assisted 
by  the  nature  of  our  sensations.  Thus  all  our  visual  ideas,  inas 
much  as  they  assume  shape,  do  seem  like  faint  sensations ;  the 
reason  is,  that  although  it  is  a  very  different  thing  to  look  at  the 
sun  and  to  think  of  it,  yet  in  thinking,  our  idea  corresponds,  in 
some  measure,  with  our  sensation  :  the  idea  is  of  a  round,  yellow, 
luminous  body,  and  is  not  improperly  called  an  image  of  the  sun. 
If  it  is  an  image  of  the  sun,  we  easily  conclude  that  it  is  a  faint 
copy  of  our  sensation.  But  in  the  case  of  other  senses,  there  is 
no  difficulty  in  detecting  the  error.  When  we  say  that  we  can 
recall  the  sensation  of  hunger,  we  verbally  confound  our  power  of 
thinking  a  thing,  with  our  power  of  feeling  it.  There  is,  in  truth, 
a  generic  distinction  between  Thought  and  Sensation,  which  it 
is  fatal  to  overlook ;  nor  could  it  have  been  overlooked  but  for 
the  introduction  and  adoption  of  that  much-abused  word  "  idea," 
instead  of  thought. 

I  do  not  believe  we  can  recover  any  sensation  at  all,  but  only 
the  ideal  effect  of  the  sensation.  Mr.  Bain,  who  of  all  psychol 
ogists,  as  it  appears  to  me,  has  approached  nearest  to  the  truth, 
here  remarks,  that  the  "  exact  tone  of  feeling,  the  precise  inward 
sensation  due  to  a  state  of  hunger,  is  almost  irrecoverable  and 
unimaginable  in  a  state  of  comfortable  repletion."  I  believe  it 
to  be  utterly  irrecoverable.  "But,"  he  adds,  "the  uneasy  move 
ments,  the  fretful  tones,  the  language  of  complaint,  are  all  easy 
to  recall ;  they  belong  to  the  more  intellectual  part  of  the  sys 
tem  ;  and  by  these  we  can  recover  some  portion  of  the  total  fact, 
which  is  also  just  about  as  much  as  we  can  communicate  to  a 
second  person.  The  digestive  state  for  the  time  being,  rules  the 
tone  of  sensation  so  effectually,  that  we  cannot,  by  any  effort, 
restore  the  currents  due  to  an  entirely  opposite  state ;  we  can 
only  recover  the  more  revivable  accompaniments."*  The  reason 

*  The  Senses  and  the  Intellect,  p.  337. 


596  CONDILLAC. 

of  this  I  take  to  be  simply  the  impossibility  of  displacing  a  sen 
sation  (e.  g.  that  of  repletion)  by  an  idea.  The  sensation  of  hun 
ger  was  due  to  a  peculiar  stimulus  of  the  nervous  system  ;  so 
long  as  that  stimulus  was  present,  the  sensation  was  present ; 
when  another  stimulus  replaced  it,  another  sensation  succeeded, 
and  in  the  presence  of  that  stimulus  no  other  sensation  is  recov 
erable.  The  "revivable  accompaniments"  were  not  sensations, 
but  the  sequences  of  sensations,  ideal  elements.  When  Mr.  Bain 
contrasts  the  sense  of  sight  with  the  sense  of  hunger,  and  says 
"that  we  can  recover  a  picture  or  vision  of  fancy  almost  as  ex 
actly  as  we  saw  it,  though  not  so  strongly,"  and  thinks  that  this 
gives  to  the  sense  of  sight  its  "  intellectual  character,"  he  appears 
to  me  to  overlook  the  generic  distinction  between  Sensation  and 
Thought,  a  distinction  which  Condillac  and  his  school  systemat 
ically  set  aside.  "We  can  repossess  ourselves,"  he  adds,  "of  the 
exact  scene  as  it  lay  to  the  eye;  \\\fact  the  sensation  itself  is  the 
most  retainable part  of  the  whole"  I  cannot  but  think  that,  if 
Mr.  Bain  will  reconsider  this  statement,  he  will  admit  that  the 
sensation  itself  is  precisely  the  part  which  is  not  retainable,  not 
recoverable;  for  although  the  image  of  the  landscape  beheld  in 
memory  is  like  the  actual  scene  which  we  gazed  upon — or,  in 
more  accurate  language,  although  we  are  similarly  affected  by 
the  remembrance-  as  by  the  original  stimulus — yet  a  psychologist 
of  Mr.  Bain's  rank  does  not  need  to  be  told  that  the  landscape 
in  perception  is  constituted  by  a  variety  of  intellectual  inferences 
— all  its  relations  of  space,  form,  solidity,  etc.,  being  purely  in 
tellectual  elements,  and  these  only  are  the  elements  present  in 
the  remembrance,  the  actual  sensations  not  being  present  at  all. 
What  therefore  is  recoverable,  is  the  purely  intellectual  part  of 
the  whole ;  what  is  irrecoverable,  the  sensational ;  precisely  as 
in  the  case  of  hunger:  we  can  recall  the  effects  of  hunger,  even 
when  quietly  digesting  dinner,  but  we  cannot  recall  the  sensation 
of  hunger. 

The  point  in  dispute   is  so  important,  and  is  so  intimately 
bound  up  with  the  whole  doctrine  of  the  Sensational  School, 


CONDILLAC'S    SYSTEM.  597 

forming  indeed  the  battle-ground  of  all  psychological  doctrine, 
that  we  must  consider  it  with  more  than  a  passing  attention. 
The  confusion  of  Sensation  with  Ideation,  or  Thought,  is  Cou- 
dillac's  systematic  error  ;  but  it  is  an  error  from  which  few,  if 
any  writers,  even  of  the  spiritualist  schools,  have  been  free.  Ex 
plicitly,  or  implicitly,  these  two  phenomena  have  been  regarded 
as  two  aspects  of  the  same  thing.  The  rigorous  demarcation  of 
Sensation  as  one  process,  from  Ideation  as  another  process, — 
each  dependent  on  its  separate  nervous  centre, — will  be  found  in 
no  psychological  treatise.  Nevertheless,  Comparative  Anatomy 
has  succeeded  in  demonstrating  the  independence  of  the  organs 
of  Sense,  and  the  Brain-proper ;  although  no  one  has  yet  suc 
ceeded  in  detecting  the  true  relations  which  connect  these  inde 
pendent  centres,  and  make  them  act  together.  We  know  that 
the  brain  is  as  much  an  addition  to  the  organs  of  Sense  as  these 
organs  are  additions  to  the  nervous  system  of  the  simpler  ani 
mals.  Low  down  in  the  animal  scale  we  can  detect  no  trace  at 
all  of  a  nervous  system  ;  ascending  a  few  steps,  we  detect  a  sim 
ple  ganglion  with  its  prolongations  ;  ascending  higher,  we  detect 
a  more  complex  arrangement  of  ganglia,  and  rudimentary  organs 
of  Sense ;  ascending  still  higher  and  higher,  we  detect  more 
complex  organs  of  Sense,  and  a  rudimentary  Brain  ;  till  at  last 
we  arrive  at  man,  with  his  complex  organs  and  his  complex 
Brain.  But  so  independent  is  the  Brain,  that  even  in  the 
human  species  cases  occur  of  "  anencephalous  monsters,"  that 
is  to  say,  children  born  without  any  Brain  whatever;  and 
these  children  breathe,  suck,  cry,  and  struggle,  like  other 
children. 

Further,  it  is  ascertained  that  the  function  of  this  Brain  (or 
Cerebrum)  is  Thought — or,  as  James  Mill,  with  a  nice  sense  of 
utility,  proposed  to  call  it,  Ideation.  Granting  this,  we  grant 
that  the  functions  Sensation  and  Ideation  are  as  independent  as 
the  organs  of  which  they  are  the  functions ;  and  although  Idea 
tion  is  organically  connected  with  Sensation,  yet  not  more  so 
than  muscular  motion  is  connected  with  Sensation.  Neither  the 


598  CONDILLAC. 

anatomical  nor  the  psychological  connections  of  the  two  have 
been  accurately  discriminated,  but  the  broad  tact  of  their  inde 
pendence  suffices  for  my  present  argument ;  which  is  merely  to 
establish  the  position  that  the  organs  of  Sense  are  competent 
to  Sensation,  without  the  addition  of  a  Brajn  ;  and  that  the 
Brain,  although  constantly  set  into  action  by  the  organs  of 
Sense,  is  in  itself  a  separate  centre,  and  the  seat  of  specific 
actions.* 

It  is  customary  to  speak  of  the  organs  of  Sense  as  if  they  were 
simple  organs  ;  we  must  not  therefore  innovate  in  this  matter, 
although  we  find  it  needful  to  remind  the  reader  that  each  spe 
cial  sense  is  really  the  function  of  a  complex  apparatus  of  organs. 
The  apparatus  of  Sight,  for  example,  may  be  separated  into  at 
least  three  parts  : — 1st,  for  the  reception  of  impressions  of  light ; 
2d,  for  the  transmission  of  those  impressions  ;  3d,  for  the  sensa 
tion.  Of  these  the  last  need  only  here  be  specially  considered, 
and  may  be  called  the  Sensational  Centre.^  In  this  centre  the 
external  stimulus  becomes  a  sensation  ;  from  this  centre  the  sen 
sation  is  generally  (not  always)  propagated  to  the  cerebrum, 
which  in  turn  may  propagate  the  influence  to  the  centre  of  mus 
cular  motion,  or  elsewhere. 

Every  sense,  whether  it  be  one  of  the  five  special  senses,  or  of 
the  so-called  "  organic  senses"  (such  as  those  of  the  alimentary 
canal  or  of  muscular  activity),  has  its  own  special  centre,  or  sen- 
sorium  ;  but  there  seems  to  be  no  ground  for  assuming,  with 
Unzer  and  Prochaska,  the  existence  of  any  one  general  sensori- 
um,  to  which  these  all  converge  ;  and  I  shall  speak  therefore  of 
the  Sensational  Centres  as  the  seats  of  sensations  derived  from 


*  See  this  point  illustrated  in  detail  by  Unzer  and  Prochaska,  in  their 
treatises  translated  for  the  Ray  Society  by  Dr.  Laycock. 

t  I  would  call  it  sensory  ganglion,  if  that  did  not  presuppose  the  existence 
of  a  distinct  ganglion,  anatomically  separable  in  the  higher  animals,  as  it  is 
in  those  lower  animals  which  have  nothing  but  sensory  ganglia.  At  present, 
however,  science  does  not  warrant  such  a  statement  otherwise  than  as  an 
hypothesis.  Besides,  I  include  the  spinal  chord  among  the  general  Sensa 
tional  Centres.  Compare  Prochaska,  p.  430. 


599 

the  stimuli  which  act  on  the  organs  of  sense.  Considered  as 
Sensational  Centres,  they  are  perfectly  independent  of  the  Brain  ; 
they  may  and  do  act  without  implicating  the  Brain,  for  they  will 
act  when  the  Brain  is  absent :  a  bird  deprived  of  its  cerebrum 
manifests  unequivocal  symptoms  of  being  sensitive  to  light,  sound, 
etc.  But  in  the  normal  state  of  the  organism  these  centres  are 
intimately  connected  with  the  Brain  ;  and  the  stimuli  which 
affect  them  directly,  indirectly  affect  the  Brain.  Light,  imping 
ing  on  the  retina,  determines  a  change  in  the  optic  Sensational 
Centre  ;  this  change  is  usually  propagated  to  the  cerebrum  ;  and 
as  the  first  change  was  a  sensation,  so  is  the  second  an  idea  :  this 
idea  may  excite  other  ideas,  or  it  may  be  so  faint  in  its  influence 
as  to  be  almost  immediately  absorbed,  and  then  we  are  said  to 
be  "  scarcely  conscious"  of  the  sensation — meaning  that  we 
thought  very  little  about  it :  an  example  of  which  is  the  little 
attention  we  pay  to  the  clock  striking  when  we  are  engaged  in 
study,  if  the  fact  is  indifferent  to  us  ;  we  hear  it,  but  think  not 
of  it  the  next  moment ;  if  on  the  other  hand  the  striking  of  the 
clock  is  not  indifferent  to  us,  the  various  thoughts  which  it 
awakens  make  us  eminently  "  conscious  of  the  sensation."  In 
the  heat  of  battle,  a  sword  passes  through  a  man's  arm,  and 
nevertheless  the  wound  is  followed  by  no  pain  or  "  conscious 
ness  ;"  the  stimulus  which  under  ordinary  circumstances  would 
have  been  propagated  from  a  Sensational  Centre,  and  thence 
radiating  to  the  cerebrum,  would  have  roused  up  manifold  ideas, 
namely,  of  consequences,  what  was  necessary  to  be  done,  etc.,  is 
prevented  from  so  radiating,  and  is  not  carried  beyond  the  Sen 
sational  Centre. 

Not  only  can  we  have  sensations  without  being  conscious  of 
them — i.  e.  without  thinking  about  them  ;  we  can  also  think  with 
perfect  freedom  when  all  the  Sensational  Centres  (except  those 
of  organic  life)  are  unaffected  by  any  stimulus,  i.  e.  when  we  have 
no  sensations.  We  do  so  when  awake  in  bed  during  the  stillness 
of  night :  the  senses  are  in  repose,  the  Brain  is  active. 

Thus  is  the  independence  of  Ideation  and  Sensation  proved 


600  CONDILLAC. 

psychologically  and  anatomically  ;  and  with  this  proof  we  de 
stroy  the  basis  of  Condillac's  doctrine.  But  even  on  purely 
metaphysical  grounds  we  may  reject  his  theory  of  the  origin  of 
knowledge.  It  rests  on  two  positions  ; — the  first  is  the  reduction 
of  all  knowledge  to  sensation  ;  the  second  is  the  dogma  of  our 
faculties  not  being  innate.  The  first  is  the  doctrine  of  Gassendi 
and  Ilobbes.  It  is  thus  stated  by  Diderot,  one  of  Condillac's 
most  celebrated  pupils  : — "  Every  idea  must  necessarily,  when 
brought  to  its  state  of  ultimate  decomposition,  resolve  itself  into 
a  sensible  representation  or  picture  ;  and  since  every  thing  in 
our  understanding  has  been  introduced  there  by  the  channel  of 
sensation,  whatever  proceeds  out  of  the  understanding  is  cither 
chimerical  or  must  be  able,  in  returning  by  the  same  road,  to  re 
establish  itself  according  to  its  sensible  archetype.  Hence  an 
important  rule  in  philosophy,  That  every  expression  which  can 
not  find  an  external  and  a  sensible  object  to  which  it  can  thus 
establish  its  affinity,  is  destitute  of  signification."* 

Those  who  maintain  sensuous  experience  to  be  the  basis  of  all 
knowledge,  will  of  course  assent  to  the  position  that  every  one 
of  our  ideas  can  be  decomposed  into  sensuous  elements  ;  but 
ideas  themselves  are  not  sensations,  they  are  formed  from  sensa 
tions,  and  are  not  sensible  pictures.  The  least  experience  is  suf 
ficient  to  convince  us  that  we  have  many  ideas  which  cannot  be 
reduced  to  any  sensible  picture  whatever ;  or,  to  prevent  any  of 
the  ambiguity  which  belongs  to  the  word  "  idea,"  let  us  rather 
say  we  have  many  thoughts  which  cannot  be  reduced  to  any 
sensible  picture.  We  can  think  of  a  sound  without  any  power 
of  forming  a  picture  of  sound  ;  we  can  think  of  virtue  or  good 
ness,  of  patriotism  or  scoundrelism,  without  being  able  to  form 
mental  pictures  of  these  ideas. 

Now  for  the  second  point :  Condillac,  we  believe,  was  the  first 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  important  truth  that  our  faculties  are 
not  innate — are  not  even  connate ;  but  he  bungled  in  attempting 

*  Quoted  by  Dugald  Stewart,  Philosophical  Essays,  p.  16 G. 


CONDILLAC'S    SYSTEM.  G01 

to  trace  the  genesis  of  these  faculties.  That  men  are  not  born 
with  the  powers  of  reasoning,  remembering,  imagining,  is  a  prop 
osition  which  will  meet  with  very  little  credit  at  first.  A  little 
experience  and  reflection  however  show  us  that  as  the  child  cer 
tainly  cannot  reason,  remember,  or  imagine,  these  being  faculties 
subsequently  and  slowly  developed,  we  must  conclude  that  the 
mental  faculties  are  only  potentially  in  the  new-born  child.  The 
baby  can  no  more  reason  than  he  can  talk.  He  learns  to  do 
both  ;  and,  before  he  can  learn  them,  the  powers  of  his  mind  no 
less  than  the  muscles  of  his  vocal  organs  must  grow,  be  devel 
oped,  and  strengthened  by  exercise.  Man  is  no  more  born  with 
reason  than  an  acorn  is  born  an  oak.  The  grown  man  has  rea 
son,  as  every  oak  has  branches  and  foliage.  But  the  infant  and 
the  acorn,  though  they  contain  that  within  them  which,  under 
fitting  circumstances,  will  be  developed  into  reason  in  the  one, 
and  foliage  in  the  other,  cannot  be  said  to  have  as  yet  either 
reason  or  foliage. 

This  is  an  important  discovery,  and  yet  one  which  is  appa 
rently  obvious,  and  obtruded  upon  our  experience  by  the  daily 
observation  of  children.  Condillac  has  the  merit  of  having  first 
seen  it ;  but  he  saw  it  very  imperfectly,  and  failed  altogether  to 
make  any  good  use  of  it.  As  an  example :  He  who  told  us 
that  our  faculties  were  not  innate,  but  were  ''acquired  habits," 
tells  us,  when  he  comes  to  the  genesis  of  those  faculties,  that 
they  spring  into  existence  at  once — are  born  full-grown — the 
acorn  suddenly  leaps  into  an  oak.  Thus  his  famous  statue  has 
Memory,  Judgment,  Desire,  etc.,  as  soon  as  it  has  Sensations. 
This  is  enough  to  show  that  if  Condillac  discovered  an  important 
feet,  he  only  stumbled  over  it,  and  knew  not  its  significance.* 
Let  us  hope  that,  if  England  is  to  produce  any  new  system  of 
Psychology,  this  most  important  point  will  not  be  overlooked : 
the  growth  and  development  of  our  faculties  is  as  much  a  part 

*  The  only  person  who,  to  our  knowledge,  has  made  any  use  of  this  fact, 
is  Dr.  Beneke,  who  has  made  it  the  basis  of  his  whole  philosophy.  See  his 
Aetie  Psycliolotjie,  also  the  Lelirluch  der  Psychologic  (Berlin,  1845). 


602  CONDILLAC. 

of  Psychology,  as  the  growth  and  development  of  our  organs  is 
a  part  of  Biology.* 

Condillac  has  made  but  a  poor  figure  in  our  pages ;  let  us 
hasten  to  add,  that  although  his  fundamental  positions  are  erro 
neous,  his  works  display  considerable  merits  both  in  manner  and 
matter.  Many  valuable  remarks,  and  some  good  analyses,  may 
be  found  in  his  writings ;  and  the  style  is  admirably  clear.  He 
departed  so  widely  from  Locke,  that  it  seems  strange  he  should 
ever  have  been  considered  as  a  disciple.  But  we  have  express 
testimony  to  the  fact  that  he  was  Locke's  disciple ;  and  if  we 
consider  for  a  moment  the  great  stress  which  Locke  always  placed 
upon  the  sensuous  origin  of  our  knowledge — that  being  the  point 
he  wished  to  bring  prominently  forward,  because  his  precursors 
had  neglected  it — we  shall  easily  conceive  how  Condillac  might 
have  been  more  impressed  with  that  part  of  the  system  than 
with  the  other,  which  Locke  had  rather  indicated  than  developed. 
Moreover  it  was  Locke's  object  to  prove  the  mind  to  be  a  tabula 
rasa,  in  order  to  disprove  innate  ideas.  This  once  being  granted, 
it  was  easy  to  fall  into  the  error  of  Condillac's  "  simplification." 

Condillac  was  clear,  but  much  of  his  clearness  was  owing  to 
his  shallowness ;  much  of  the  simplicity  was  owing  to  meagre- 
ness.  He  tried  to  construct  Psychology  upon  no  firmer  basis 
than  that  adopted  by  the  metaphysicians  whom  he  opposed. 
Analysis  of  mental  operations  and  merely  verbal  distinctions  had 
been  powerless  in  the  hands  of  his  precursors,  nor  were  they 
powerful  in  his.  In  many  subordinate  matters  he  improved  on 
them  ;  some  of  his  analyses  were  better ;  many  of  his  verbal  dis 
tinctions  were  useful;  but  he  had  no  true  psychological  Method, 
and  could  found  no  desirable  system.  The  idea  of  connecting 
Psychology  with  Biology  had  not  yet  been  distinctly  conceived. 
Although  the  brain  was  universally  held  to  be  the  "  organ"  of 
the  mind,  the  mind  was,  by  the  strangest  of  oversights,  not  re- 

*  Since  this  was  written  Mr.  Herbet  Spencer  has  expounded  the  develop 
ment  of  the  faculties  in  his  very  remarkable  Principles  of  Psychology 
(1855). 


LIFE.  603 

garded  as  the  function  of  that  organ  ;*  consequently  no  one 
thought  of  connecting  the  study  of  the  mind  with  the  study  of 
the  nervous  system ;  no  one  thought  of  a  physiological  basis  as 
indispensable  to  psychological  science.  We  shall  see  hereafter 
what  attempts  have  been  made  in  this  direction.  The  first  step 
may  be  said  to  have  been  taken  by  Hartley. 


CHAPTER   II. 
HARTLEY. 

§  I.  LIFE  OF  HARTLEY. 

DAVID  HARTLEY,  the  son  of  a  Yorkshire  clergyman,  was  born 
on  the  30th  of  August,  1705.  He  went  to  Cambridge  at  fifteen, 
and  became  a  Fellow  of  Jesus  College.  Originally  destined  for 
the  Church,  he  had  scruples  about  signing  the  Thirty-nine  Arti 
cles,  and  gave  up  the  Church  for  Medicine,  which  he  subsequently 
practised  with  great  success. 

When  only  twenty-five  years  of  age  he  conceived  the  design 
and  commenced  the  execution  of  his  celebrated  Observations  on 
Man,  his  Frame,  his  Duty,  and  his  Expectations,  led  thereto,  as 
he  tells  us  in  the  Preface,  by  hearing  that  "  the  Rev.  Mr.  Gay 
had  asserted  the  possibility  of  deducing  all  our  intellectual 
pleasures  and  pains  from  association."  Mr.  Gay  published  his 
views  in  a  dissertation  prefixed  to  Law's  translation  of  King  On 
the  Origin  of  Evil ;  but  although  Hartley  acknowledges  having 

*  I  may  here  enter  a  brief  caveat  against  the  conclusion  that  I  hold  the 
"mind  to  be  the  function  of  the  brain."  This  is  no  place  to  argue  so  wide 
a  question ;  and  I  content  myself  with  saying,  that  in  the  crude  form  in 
which  that  opinion  is  frequently  presented,  I  do  not  agree.  Ideation  I  hold 
to  be  one  function  of  the  brain;  but  Mind  is  something  more  general  than 
this  special  function  of  Ideation  ;  and  the  brain  has  other  functions  besides 
Ideation,  other  functions  than  any  usually  called  mental. 


604  HARTLEY. 

derived  the  suggestion  from  Gay,  it  is  clear  to  all  readers  of  his 
work,  that  he  had  thoroughly  mastered,  and  made  his  own,  the 
principle  of  Association  as  the  primary  law  of  intellectual  com 
bination.  Hartley  did  not  publish  his  Observations  till  1748, 
eighteen  years  after  the  scheme  was  first  laid.  The  year  before, 
according  to  Dr.  Parr,  he  published  a  small  treatise  as  a  precur 
sor  to  this  work.  "You  will  be  astonished  to  hear,"  Dr.  Pan- 
writes  to  Dugald  Stewart,*  "  that  in  this  book,  instead  of  the 
Doctrine  of  Necessity,  Hartley  openly  declares  for  the  indifference 
of  the  will,  as  maintained  by  Archbishop  King."  And  the  reader 
will  be  astonished  to  hear  that  Hartley  does  no  such  thing! 
Dugald  Ste wart,  who  had  not  seen  the  work  referred  to,  remarks 
that  "  it  is  curious  that,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  Hartley's  opin 
ions  on  so  very  essential  a  point  should  have  undergone  a  com 
plete  change  ;"  still  more  curious,  however,  that  Dr.  Parr  should 
have  read  the  work  and  discovered  in  it  such  a  mare's-nest.  The 
tract  in  question  is  reprinted  in  the  volume  of  Metaphysical 
Tracts  by  English  Philosophers  of  the  Eighteenth  Century.  Pre 
pared  for  the  Press  by  the  late  Rev.  Samuel  Parr,  D.D.  London, 
1837 — a  volume  precious  to  metaphysical  students,  because  it  con 
tains  Collier's  Clavis  Universalis  and  Specimen  of  True  Philosophy. 
If  the  reader  will  turn  to  the  third  of  these  tracts,  Conjectural 
qucedam  de  Sensu,  Motu,  et  Idearum  Generatione,  without  date, 
he  will  find  that  it  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  an  abstract,  in 
Latin,  of  the  first  part  of  Hartley's  Observations  ;  and  that  the 
question  of  Free-will  is  nowhere  opened  in  it.  I  can  only  sup 
pose  that  Dr.  Parr,  unacquainted  with  physiological  speculations, 
was  misled  by  the  admirable  discussion  of  automatic  and  volun 
tary  actions  (pp.  31-35),  into  the  notion  that  Hartley  there  es 
poused  the  doctrine  of  free-will ;  but  I  am  surprised  that  Sir  W. 
Hamilton  should  have  allowed  the  error  to  pass  uncorrected  in 
his  edition  of  Stewart's  Dissertation. 

Hartley  died  on  the  25th  of  August,  1757,  aged  fifty-two,  and 

*  Stewart's  Dissertation,  part  ii.  p.  355  of  Hamilton's  edition. 


605 

left  a  name  so  distinguished  for  piety  and  goodness,  that  it  in  a 
great  measure  shielded  his  doctrines  from  the  reprobation  they 
have  often  incurred  when  promulgated  by  others. 

§  II.  HARTLEY'S  SYSTEM. 

Combining  a  suggestion  thrown  out  by  Newton  at  the  end  of  his 
Principia,  and  in  the  questions  annexed  to  his  Optics,  respecting 
vibrations  of  an  ether  as  the  cause  of  sensation,  with  the  doctrine 
of  Locke  respecting  Association  of  Ideas,  Hartley  produced  a 
system  of  Psychology,  which  is  historically  curious  as  the  first 
attempt  to  explain  psychological  phenomena  on  physiological 
principles.  If  not  worth  much  as  a  contribution  to  Philosophy, 
it  is  very  noticeable  as  an  effort  to  connect  intellectual  with  phys 
ical  phenomena ;  and,  however  subsequent  writers  may  have  rid 
iculed,  not  without  excuse,  the  vibrations  and  vibratiuncles  which 
Hartley  substituted  for  the  old  metaphysical  conceptions,  it 
is  certain  that  his  attempt  to  explain  the  phenomena  physio 
logically,  has  very  much  influenced  the  thoughts  of  succeeding 
speculators. 

"  Man,"  he  says,  "  consists  of  two  parts,  body  and  mind." 
Does  he  mean  by  this  to  proclaim  the  existence  of  a  distinct, 
immaterial  entity  superadded  to  the  body?  According  to  the 
terms  of  his  definition,  on  the  first  page  of  his  work,  this  seems 
to  be  his  intention;  for  he  defines  it  as  "that  substance,  agent, 
principle,  etc.,  to  which  we  refer  the  sensations,  ideas,  pleasures, 
pains,  and  voluntary  motions."  Yet  the  whole  system  of  vibra 
tions  seems  to  imply  the  contrary ;  and  at  the  close  of  the  first 
part  of  his  work,  he  declares  that  he  holds  himself  aloof  from 
the  question  altogether.  He  will  not  deny  the  immateriality  of 
mind  :  "  On  the  contrary,  I  see  clearly,  and  acknowledge  readily, 
that  matter  and  motion,  however  subtly  divided,  yield  nothing 
more  than  matter  and  motion  still.  But  then  neither  would  I 
affirm  that  this  consideration  affords  a  proof  of  the  soul's  imma 
teriality."  He  thinks,  with  Locke,  that  it  is  quite  possible  the 
Creator  should  have  endowed  matter  with  sensation  ;  but  he  will 


606  HARTLEY. 

not  undertake  to  affirm  it  as  a  truth.  "  It  is  sufficient  for  me 
that  there  is  a  certain  connection,  of  one  kind  or  other,  between 
the  sensations  of  the  soul,  and  the  motions  excited  in  the  medul 
lary  substance  of  the  brain."*  A  more  rigorous  logic  would 
have  forced  him  into  a  more  decided  opinion  ;  for  this  question 
of  the  soul's  immateriality  is  one  vitally  affecting-  the  system  of 
vibrations ;  and  his  adversaries  have  had  little  difficulty  in  show 
ing  the  insufficiency  of  "  vibrations"  to  explain  the  phenomena 
of  an  immaterial  mind.  Between  the  immaterial  principle  and 
these  material  vibrations,  there  is  an  impassable  gulf;  let  the 
other  vibrate  never  so  rhythmically,  it  always  remains  "  vibrating 
ether,"  it  cannot  become  "  sensation,"  "  thought ;"  nor  does  Hart 
ley  bridge  over  the  gulf  by  the  assumption  of  an  "  infinitesimal 
elementary  body  intermediate  between  the  soul  and  the  gross 
body,"  to  which,  and  from  which,  the  vibrations  of  the  nerves 
are  communicated ;  the  radical  difficulty  remains  the  same. 

It  may  be  objected,  perhaps,  that  those  who  point  out  the  de 
fect  in  Hartley's  hypothesis  are  themselves  open  to  a  similar 
charge,  since  they  assume  an  immaterial  principle  to  be  effected 
by  a  material  change,  and  assume  the  mind  to  be  in  connection 
with  the  body,  following  its  alterations.  But  there  is  this  differ 
ence  between  them  and  Hartley  :  they  do  not  pretend  to  explain 
how  mind  is  affected  by  body ;  he  does.  They  accept,  as  an  ulti 
mate  fact,  what  he  attempts  to  elucidate  ;  and  it  is  his  elucida 
tion  which  they  refuse  to  acknowledge. 

And  we  must  agree  with  them  in  rejecting  the  hypothesis 
which  Hartley  proposes ;  for  it  is  not  only  incompetent  to  ex 
plain  the  phenomena,  but  it  is  also  one  of  those  ingenuities  inca 
pable  of  really  serving  the  purpose  of  a  good  hypothesis,  because 
in  itself  wholly  incapable  of  verification. 

His  first  proposition  is  that  "  The  white  medullary  substance 
of  the  brain,  spinal  marrow,  and  the  nerves  proceeding  from 


*  Compare  also  Scholium  to  Prop.  5  (vol.  i.  p.  33)  and  Conjecturcequadam, 
dc  Sensuj  etc.,  p.  41. 


GOT 

them,  is  the  immediate  instrument  of  sensation  and  motion." 
Modern  physiologists  maintain  precisely  the  reverse  of  this,  de 
claring  the  gray  matter  to  be  the  specific  seat  of  sensation  and 
intelligence.  I  may  say,  in  passing,  that  both  these  positions 
seem  to  me  erroneous  in  their  exclusiveness  ;  and  that  the  white 
as  well  as  the  gray  substance  must  be  preseut,  just  as  the  zinc 
and  copper  plates  must  both  be  present  in  the  galvanic  battery. 

Hartley  continues:  "External  objects  impressed  upon  the 
senses  occasion,  first  in  the  nerves  on  which  they  are  impressed, 
and  then  in  the  brain,  Vibrations  of  the  small — or,  as  any  one 
may  say,  infinitesimal — medullary  particles.  These  Vibrations 
are  motions  backwards  and  forwards,  of  the  same  kind  as  the 
oscillation  of  pendulums,  and  the  tremblings  of  the  particles  of 
sounding  bodies.  They  must  be  conceived  to  be  exceedingly 
short  and  small,  so  as  not  to  have  the  least  efficacy  to  disturb  or 
move  the  whole  bodies  of  the  nerves  or  brain.  For  that  the 
nerves  themselves  should  vibrate  like  musical  strings  is  highly 
absurd." 

It  appears  from  a  passage  in  the  Contemplation  de  la  Nature 
of  the  Genevese  naturalist,  Charles  Bonnet,  who  published,  al 
most  contemporaneously  with  Hartley,  a  doctrine  almost  indis 
tinguishable  from  Hartley's,  that  certain  physiologists  had  already 
entertained  the  idea  of  sensation  being  the  result  of  a  nervous 
oscillation.  "  Us  vouloient  faire  osciller  les  nerfs  pour  rendre 
raison  des  sensations  ;  et  les  nerfs  ne  peuvent  pas  osciller.  Us 
sont  mous,  et  nullement  elastiques."*  Not  the  nerves,  but  the 
elastic  ether  which  penetrates  the  nerves,  is  the  seat  of  these  os 
cillations,  according  to  Hartley  and  Bonnet. 

The  greatest  defect  of  this  hypothesis  is  that  it  explains  noth 
ing,  while  seeming  to  explain  every  thing.  Sensation  remains 
as  mysterious  as  before.  If  we  call  sensations  by  the  new  name 
of  vibrations,  we  have  done  nothing  but  change  the  name  ;  and 
if  we  say  sensations  are  vibrations,  or  are  produced  by  them, 
then  the  onus  of  proof  rests  on  our  shoulders. 

*  Partie  vii.  ch.  i. 


608  HARTLEY. 

While  acknowledging  the  defect  of  Hartley's  system,  let  us 
not  forget  its  excellence.  If  the  doctrine  of  Association  was  not 
first  applied  by  him,  it  was  by  him  first  made  a  physiologi co- 
psychological  basis.  He  not  only  applied  it  to  the  explanation 
of  mental  phenomena ;  he  applied  it,  and  with  great  ingenuity, 
to  those  physiological  phenomena  which  still  interest  and  per 
plex  philosophers,  namely  the  voluntary  and  involuntary  actions. 
His  twenty-first  proposition,  and  the  elucidations  which  follow, 
deserve  to  be  read,  even  in  the  present  day  ;  and  the  following 
passage  from  the  abstract  published  in  Parr's  Tracts,  is,  in  its 
pregnant  brevity,  worth  quoting  here.  "  Discentes  pulsare  in- 
strumenta  musica,  primo  movcnt  digitos  actione  voluntaria,  con- 
nectentes  interea  Ideas,  imperiaque  Aniime,  hos  motus  lente 
excitantia,  cum  aspectu  characterum  musicorum.  Contimiato  hoc 
processu,  accedunt  indies,  propius  propiusque  ad  se  invicem, 
motus  digitorum,  et  impressiones  characterum,  et  tandem,  Ideis 
et  imperils  Animse  in  infinitum  quasi  diminutis,  coalescunt.  Fi- 
dicen  igitur  peritus  chordas  digitis  percurrit  citissime,  et  ordine 
justo,  ex  mero  aspectu  characterum  musicorum,  animo  interim 
alienis  cognitationibus  intento  ;  atque  proinde  characteres  musici 
idem  illi  pnestant  officium,  ac  Sensationes  impressa3  receus  natis, 
in  motibus  eorum  automaticis.  Migrant  itaque  ope  Associations 
tarn  Motus  voluntarii  in  automaticos,  quam  automatici  in  volun 
taries."* 

So  little  dependent  is  the  psychological  doctrine  of  Association 
on  the  physiological  doctrine  of  Vibrations,  that  Priestley,  in  his 
Abridgment  of  Hartley,  omits  the  latter  hypothesis  altogether. 
The  principle  of  Association  passed  into  the  Scotch  school ;  and 
Hartley  thus  historically  forms  the  transition  to  Reid  and  his 
followers,  who  studiously  avoided  any  thing  like  a  physiological 
explanation  of  mental  phenomena.  Before  passing  to  Reid,  how 
ever,  it  will  be  well  to  glance  at  Darwin. 

*  Conjecture,  p.  34. 


CHAPTER   III. 

DARWIN. 

ALTHOUGH  even  more  neglected  than  Hartley  by  the  present 
generation,  Darwin,  once  so  celebrated,  deserves  mention  here 
as  one  of  the  psychologists  who  aimed  at  establishing  the  physio 
logical  basis  of  mental  phenomena. 

Erasmus  Darwin  was  born  at  Elton,  near  Newark,  on  the  12th 
December,  1731.  After  studying  at  St.  John's  College,  Cam 
bridge,  and  taking  his  degree  of  Doctor  of  Medicine  at  Edin 
burgh,  he  established  himself  as  a  physician  in  Lichfield,  mar 
ried  twice,  had  three  sons,  and  died  in  the  seventieth  year  of  his 
age,  18th  April,  1802.  As  a  poet,  his  Botanic  Garden  (1781) 
by  its  tawdry  splendor  gained  him  a  tawdry  reputation ;  as  a 
philosopher  his  Zoonomia ;  or,  Laws  of  Organic  Life  (2  vols. 
4to,  1794—6),  gained  him  a  reputation  equally  noisy  and  fleeting. 

Although  couched  in  different  language,  Darwin's  theory  is 
substantially  the  same  as  Hartley's ;  instead  of  "  vibrations"  he 
substitutes  "  sensorial  motions."  By  the  sensorium  Darwin  means 
"  not  only  the  medullary  part  of  the  brain,  spinal  marrow,  nerves, 
organs  of  sense,  and  of  the  muscles ;  but  also  at  the  same  time 
that  living  principle,  or  spirit  of  animation,  which  resides  through 
out  the  body  without  being  cognizable  to  our  senses,  except  by 
its  effects."  The  changes  which  occasionally  take  place  in  the 
sensorium,  as  during  the  exertions  of  volition,  or  the  sensations 
of  pleasure  or  pain,  are  termed  sensorial  motions* 

The  medullary  substance,  he  thinks,  passes  along  the  nerves 
and  mingles  with  the  muscular  fibres.  The  "  organs  of  sense 
consist  in  like  manner  of  moving  fibres  enveloped  in  the  medul 
lary  substance."  The  word  idea  has  various  meanings,  he  says, 

*  Zoonomia,  vol.  i.  p.  10. 

265* 


610  DARWIN. 

and  to  give  it  precision  he  defines  it  as  "  a  contraction  or  mo 
tion,  or  configuration  of  the  fibres  which  constitute  the  imme 
diate  organ  of  sense.  Synonymous  with  the  word  idea  we  shall 
sometimes  use  the  words  sensual  motion,  in  contradistinction  to 
muscular  motion.''1 

He  then  undertakes  to  prove  the  existence  of  these  sensual 
motions,  and  deduces  from  this  proof  the  fact  that  as  we  advance 
in  life  all  the  parts  of  our  bodies  become  rigid,  and  are  conse 
quently  less  susceptible  of  new  habits  of  motion,  though  they 
retain  those  already  established.  Hence  only  the  young  can 
learn ;  hence  the  aged  forget  the  events  of  yesterday  and  remem 
ber  those  of  infancy.* 

"  If  our  recollection,  or  imagination,  be  not  a  repetition  of 
animal  movements,  I  ask,  in  my  turn,  What  is  it  ?  You  tell  me 
it  consists  of  images  or  pictures  of  things.  Where  is  this  exten 
sive  canvas  hung  up  ?  or  where  the  numerous  receptacles  in 
which  these  are  deposited  ?  or  to  what  else  in  the  animal  sys 
tem  have  they  any  similitude  ?  That  pleasing  picture  of  objects, 
represented  in  miniature  on  the  retina  of  the  eye,  seems  to  have 
given  rise  to  this  illusive  oratory !  It  was  forgot  that  this  rep 
resentation  belongs  rather  to  the  laws  of  light  than  to  those  of 
life  ;  and  may  with  equal  elegance  be  seen  in  the  camera  ob- 
scura  as  in  the  eye  ;  and  that  the  picture  vanishes  forever  when 
the  object  is  withdrawn."! 

Had  Darwin  left  us  only  the  passage  just  cited,  we  should 
have  credited  him  with  a  profounder  insight  into  Psychology 
than  any  of  his  contemporaries,  and  the  majority  of  his  succes 
sors,  exhibit ;  and  although  the  perusal  of  Zoonomia  must  con 
vince  every  one  that  Darwin's  system  is  built  up  of  absurd  hypoth 
eses,  Darwin  deserves  a  place  in  history  for  that  one  admirable 
conception  of  psychology  as  subordinate  to  the  laws  of  life.  So 


*  Zoonomia,  vol.  i.  p.  27. 

t  Ibid.,  p.  29.  In  Bain's  Senses  and  the  Intellect,  p.  GO  sq.,  the  reader  will 
find  the  old  theory  of  a  sensorium,  or  chamber  of  images,  which  Darwin 
here  pushes  aside,  satisfactorily  refuted  from  the  physiological  point  of  view. 


DARWIN.  611 

little  has  this  conception  been  appreciated,  that  not  only  are  sys 
tems  of  Psychology  constructed  in  serene  indifference  to  Physi 
ology,  but  many  of  the  questions  agitated  in  mental  Physiology 
are  hopelessly  entangled  because  men  will  not,  or  cannot,  dis 
criminate  between  problems  of  Physics  and  problems  of  Physi 
ology  ;  between  phenomena  regulated  by  laws  of  inorganic  mat 
ter,  and  phenomena  regulated  by  laws  of  organic  matter.  Thus 
the  questions,  Why  with  two  eyes  do  we  see  objects  single  ?  and, 
Why  do  we  not  see  objects  inverted,  since  their  images  are  in 
verted  on  the  retina  ?  have  puzzled  thousands ;  and  not  one  of 
the  attempted  solutions  has  recognized  the  important  fact  that 
the  problems  are  psychological,  not  optical  nor  anatomical,  con 
sequently  cannot  be  settled  by  optics  or  anatomy ;  angles  of 
incidence,  and  discussation  of  optic  nerves,  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  phenomena  the  moment  after  the  Sensational  Centre 
has  been  affected.  We  might  as  well  attempt  to  deduce  the  as 
similation  of  sugar  from  the  angles  of  its  crystals,  or  from  the 
sand-like  disposition  of  its  grains,  as  to  deduce  the  perception 
of  an  object  from  the  laws  of  optics :  the  crystals  and  grains  of 
sugar  must  first  be  destroyed,  and  the  sugar  made  soluble,  before 
it  can  be  assimilated  ;  the  retinal  images  must,  in  like  manner, 
first  be  transformed  in  the  Sensational  Centre  before  they  can, 
through  the  sensational  centre,  affect  the  cerebrum. 

That  this  is  no  gratuitous  hypothesis  of  mine,  but  expresses 
the  actual  process  of  perception,  in  as  far  as  that  process  has 
been  ascertained,  may  perhaps  be  made  clear  from  the  following 
considerations.  When  I  say  that  the  perception  of  a  visual  ob 
ject  is  a  psychological  act,  not  in  any  way  explicable  by  the  laws 
of  optics,  or  by  any  investigation  of  the  anatomical  structure  of 
the  optic  apparatus,  I  ground  that  assertion  on  certain  authorita 
tive  facts ;  for  example,  I  take  up  the  vexed  question  of  our  per 
ceiving  an  object  as  single,  although  two  images  are  formed  on 
the  two  retinas  ;  and  instead  of  endeavoring  to  explain  it  by  del 
icate  anatomy  of  the  retina,  or  the  decussating  fibres  of  the  optic 
nerves,  I  at  once  remove  it  from  that  circle  of  discussion  by  class- 


612  DAEWIN. 

ing  it  with  phenomena  precisely  analogous.  We  see  objects 
single  with  two  eyes ;  true,  but  we  also  hear  sounds  as  single 
with  two  ears,  we  smell  odors  as  single  with  two  nostrils,  we  feel 
objects  as  single  with  five  fingers.  How  is  it  that  no  physiolo 
gist  has  reflected  on  the  bearing  of  these  facts  ?  If  the  ordinary 
explanations  of  optical  perception  are  correct,  why  do  not  audi 
tory  and  olfactory  nerves  decussate  ? — Why  do  not  the  waves  of 
sound  affect  similar  points  of  the  tympanum — and  so  the  whole 
mystery  be  cleared  up  ?  No  sooner  is  attention  called  to  the 
fact  of  single  hearing  and  single  smelling,  with  two  auditory  and 
two  olfactory  nerves,  than  we  at  once  cease  to  regard  single 
vision  with  two  optic  nerves  as  any  thing  special,  and  we  try  if 
a  psychological  explanation  will  not  avail.  I  believe  the  ex 
planation  to  be  very  simple.  We  cannot  have  two  precisely  simi 
lar  sensations  at  precisely  the  same  instant;  the  simultaneousness 
of  the  two  sensations  renders  them  indistinguishable.  Two  sounds 
of  precisely  the  same  pitch  and  intensity,  succeeding  each  other 
by  an  appreciable  interval,  will  be  heard  as  two  sounds ;  but  if 
they  succeed  each  other  so  rapidly  that  the  interval  is  inappre 
ciable,  no  distinction  will  be  felt,  and  the  two  will  be  heard  as 
one,  because  heard  simultaneously.  As  I  am  forced  to  be  very 
brief  here,  the  reader  will  not  expect,  any  development  of  this 
theory,  but  will  pass  with  me  to  tho  consideration  of  other  psy 
chological  aspects  of  perception. 

The  fact  of  our  being  able  to  see  an  image  reflected  on  the 
retina  of  an  animal,  and  of  our  being  able  to  explain  on  optical 
principles  the  formation  of  that  image,  has  very  much  misled 
physiologists  in  their  efforts  to  comprehend  sensation  ;  they  have 
naturally  imagined  that  in  vision  we  see  the  retinal  image; 
whereas,  unless  I  am  altogether  mistaken,  we  see  nothing  of  the 
kind — we  are  affected  by  that  retinal  image,  as  in  hearing  we  are 
affected  by  a  wave  of  air,  but  do  not  perceive  the  wave ;  or  as  in 
smelling  we  are  affected  by  the  action  of  volatile  substances  on 
the  olfactory  nerve,  but  do  not  perceive  the  substances.  We 
only  perceive  the  changes  effected  in  us  by  these  agents. 


DARWIN.  613 

The  various  Sensational  Centres  (see  p.  598)  are  variously 
affected  by  the  same  stimuli :  electricity  giving  to  the  gustatory 
nerve  the  stimulus  of  savorous  bodies,  to  the  auditory  nerve  the 
stimulus  of  sonorous  vibrations,  to  the  optic  nerve  the  stimulus 
of  luminous  bodies,  to  the  tactile  nerves  the  stimulus  of  touch. 
Pressure  on  the  eye  causes  luminous  spots  to  be  seen  ;  we  seem 
to  see  fire-flies.  The  pressure  of  over-distended  blood-vessels 
produces  spectral  illusions,  and  we  see  daggers  in  the  air  as 
vividly  as  any  at  our  sides.  Unhappy  students  well  know  the 
"  singing  in  the  ears"  produced  by  over-study.  Nor  is  this  all : 
narcotics  introduced  into  the  blood  excite  in  each  Sensational 
Centre  the  specific  sensation  normally  excited  by  its  external 
stimuli ;  giving  the  appearance  of  luminous  spots  to  the  eyes,  of 
singing  in  the  ears  to  the  auditory  nerves,  and  of  "  creeping  sen 
sations"  to  the  nerves  of  touch. 

The  reason  of  this  is  that  each  Sensational  Centre  has  its  spe 
cific  manner  of  being  affected,  no  matter  what  the  specific  nature 
of  the  thing  affecting  it.  While  only  certain  things  affect  it  sen 
sationally,  all  those  which  do  affect  it,  do  so  in  a  specific  manner. 
Light,  for  instance,  affects  the  optic  centre,  but  produces  no  ap 
preciable  effect  on  the  auditory,  gustatory,  or  tactile  centres ; 
nevertheless  the  optic  centre  may  be  affected  by  pressure,  by 
narcotics,  or  by  electricity,  precisely  in  the  same  way  as  by 
light.  The  vibrations  of  a  tuning-fork,  which  affect  the  auditory 
centre  as  sound,  affect  the  tactile  centre  as  "  tickling,"  not 
"  sound." 

From  these  indubitable  facts  it  is  not  difficult  to  elicit  a  con 
clusion,  namely,  that  sensation  depends  on  the  Sensational  Centre 
and  not  on  the  external  stimulus,  that  stimulus  being  only  the 
cause  of  the  sensational  change.  Whether  the  retina  be  directly 
affected  by  rays  of  light  issuing  from  an  object,  or  the  optic  cen 
tre  be  affected  by  the  pressure  of  congested  blood-vessels,  in  each 
case  we  see,  in  each  case  the  optic  centre  is  affected  in  that  spe 
cific  manner  in  which  alone  it  is  capable  of  being  affected.  Con 
sequently  inasmuch  as  the  visual  sensation  depends  on  the  optic 


614  DARWIN. 

centre  being  affected,  and  does  not  depend  on  the  formation  of 
an  image  on  the  retina,  we  have  no  alternative  but  to  admit  that 
the  retinal  affection  is  transformed  by  the  Sensational  Centre,  and 
there  the  impression  first  becomes  a  sensation. 

It  may  be  added  as  confirmation  of  the  foregoing  doctrine  re 
specting  the  centre  as  the  seat  of  sensation,  that  Miiller  has  cited 
examples  of  luminous  spectra  being  excited  by  internal  causes 
after  the  complete  destruction  of  the  retina ;  and  "  Luicke  relates 
the  case  of  a  patient  who,  after  the  extirpation  of  the  eye  for  fun 
goid  disease,  perceived  all  kinds  of  luminous  appearances  inde 
pendently  of  external  objects."* 

When  therefore  it  is  asked,  Why  do  we  see  objects  erect, 
when  they  throw  inverted  images  on  the  retina  ?  the  answer  is, 
Because  we  do  not  see  the  retinal  image  at  all ;  we  see,  or  are 
affected  by,  the  object ;  and  our  perception  of  the  erectness  of 
that  object  does  not  depend  on  vision,  but  on  our  conceptions  of 
space  and  the  relations  of  space — which  are  not  given  in  the 
visual  sensation,  but  are  ideal  conceptions  :  conceptions  which 
are  acquired  in  a  complicated  series  of  inferences,  according  to 
most  philosophers  ;  which  are  "forms  of  thought,"  according  to 
Kant ;  but  which  are  by  no  school  held  to  be  immediate  ele 
ments  of  sensation. 

We  thus  return  to  the  position  that  in  every  act  of  conscious 
ness  the  impression  on  the  nerve  becomes  transformed  into  a 
sensation  only  in  the  Sensational  Centre  ;  and  the  old  theories 
of  "  eidola,"  "  images,"  "  impressions,"  are  seen  to  be  untenable. 
Just  as  the  crystals  of  sugar  have  to  be  decomposed,  and  the 
sugar  transformed  into  glucose,  the  glucose  transformed  into 
lactic  acid,  before  sugar  can  be  assimilable  in  the  organism,  so 
have  the  retinal  images  to  be  decomposed  in  the  optic  centre  be 
fore  a  visual  sensation  can  be  produced.  Attempt  a  more  direct 
process,  and  failure  is  inevitable  :  cane-sugar  injected  into  the 
veins  is  expelled  in  the  urine  as  a  foreign  substance,  not  assimila- 

*  Miiller,  Physiology,  Eng.  Trans,  i.  1072. 


DARWIN.  615 

ble ;  and,  in  like  manner,  the  most  dexterous  adjustment  of  rays 
of  light  falling  immediately  on  the  optic  ganglion,  not  transmit 
ted  thereto  by  the  optic  nerve,  would  produce  no  visual  sensation. 

Does  not  this  demonstrate  the  purely  subjective  nature  of  all 
our  knowledge,  and  the  necessary  admixture  of  the  ideal  element 
in  all  perception  ?  It  also  demonstrates  the  futility  of  the  theory 
adopted  by  Hartley  and  Darwin,  which  attempts  to  explain  men 
tal  phenomena  by  "  vibrations"  and  "  motions."  Motion  can 
only  be  motion,  it  cannot  be  the  specific  phenomena  we  name 
sensation.  To  call  sensations  and  ideas  by  the  vague  name  of 
motions,  is  to  violate  the  conditions  of  philosophic  language,  and 
to  mislead  those  who  accept  it  into  the  belief  that  an  explanation 
has  been  given  in  the  change  of  term.  That  Darwin  was  by  it 
misled  into  absurdity  will  be  apparent  in  the  following  attempt 
to  explain  perception : 

"  No  one  will  deny,"  he  says,  "  that  the  medulla  of  the  brain 
and  nerves  has  a  certain  figure  ;  which,  as  it  is  diffused  through 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  body,  must  have  nearly  the  figure  of 
that  body.  Now  it  follows  that  the  spirit  of  animation,  or  living 
principle,  as  it  occupies  this  medulla  and  no  other  part,  has  also 
the  same  figure  as  the  medulla  .  .  .  which  is  nearly  the  figure 
of  the  body.  When  the  idea  of  solidily  is  excited,  a  part  of  the 
extensive  organ  of  touch  is  compressed  by  some  external  body, 
and  this  part  of  the  scnsorium  so  compressed  exactly  resembles 
in  figure  the  figure  of  the  body  that  compressed  it.  Hence 
when  we  acquire  the  idea  of  solidity  we  acquire  at  the  same  time 
the  idea  of  figure  j  and  this  idea  of  figure,  or  motion  of  a  part 
of  the  organ  of  touch,  exactly  resembles  in  its  figure  the  figure 
of  the  body  that  occasions  it ;  and  thus  exactly  acquaints  us  with 
this  property  of  the  external  world."* 

He  is  thus  brought  back  to  the  old  conception  of  the  mind 
being  "impressed"  by  the  exact  forms  of  objects  as  wax  is  im 
pressed  by  a  seal.  As  he  proceeds  he  gets  more  and  more  ab- 

*  Zoonomia,  pp.  111-2. 


616  DARWIN. 

surd.  Thus  he  says,  although  "  there  may  exist  beings  in  the 
universe  that  have  not  the  property  of  solidity ;  that  is,  which 
can  possess  any  part  of  space  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  occupied 
by  other  bodies ;  yet  there  may  be  other  beings  that  can  assume 
this  property  of  solidity  or  disrobe  themselves  of  it  occasionally,  as 
we  are  taught  of  spirits  and  of  angels ;  and  it  would  seem  that 
the  spirit  of  animation  must  be  endued  with  this  property,  other 
wise  how  could  it  occasionally  give  motion  to  the  limbs  of  ani 
mals  ?  or  be  itself  stimulated  into  motion  by  the  obtrusions  of 
surrounding  bodies,  as  of  light  or  odor  ?"*  He  is  led  to  this  by 
the  Spinozistic  axiom,  that  "  no  two  things  can  influence  or  affect 
each  other  which  have  not  some  property  common  to  both  of 
them,"  which  axiom  destroys  the  possibility  of  spirit  acting  on 
body.  Hartley,  as  we  saw,  tried  to  get  over  this  difficulty  by 
assuming  the  existence  of  a  substance  intermediate  between  body 
and  spirit.  Darwin  finds  it  easy  to  assume  that  the  spirit  has 
the  power  of  putting  on  or  putting  off  the  properties  of  matter 
just  as  it  pleases.  "Hence  the  spirit  of  animation  at  the  time 
it  communicates  or  receives  motion  from  solid  bodies  must  itself 
possess  some  property  of  solidity.  And  at  the  time  it  receives 
other  kinds  of  motion  from  light,  it  must  possess  that  property 
which  light  possesses  to  communicate  that  motion  named  Visi 
bility.  In  like  manner  it  possesses  Saporosity,  Odorosity,  Tangi 
bility,  and  Audibility."! 

This  is  enough  to  show  how  little  Darwin  understood  the  real 
value  of  his  luminous  idea  respecting  Psychology  based  on  the 
laws  of  life ;  enough  also  to  make  every  one  understand  how 
philosophers  rebelled  against  such  "  materialism"  as  issued  from 
the  explanation  of  mental  phenomena  by  "  sensory  motions." 
Before  finally  quitting  the  Zoonomia  we  must  pause  a  moment 
over  the  explanation  of  our  feeling  for  Beauty.  He  describes  the 
sensations  of  the  babe  when  "  soon  after  it  is  born  into  this  cold 
world  it  is  applied  to  its  mother's  warm  bosom,"  and  the  agree- 

*  Zoonomia,  p.  114.  t  Hid.,  i.  115. 


DARWIN.  617 

able  influences  which  thus  grow  up  in  the  mind  associated  with 
the  form  of* the  bosom  "which  the  infant  embraces  with  its 
hands,  presses  with  its  lips,  and  watches  with  its  eyes ;  and  thus 
acquires  more  accurate  ideas  of  the  form  than  of  the  odor,  and 
flavor,  or  warmth,  which  it  perceives  by  its  other  senses.  And 
hence  in  our  maturer  years,  when  any  object  of  vision  is  presented 
to  us,  which,  by  its  waving  or  spiral  lines,  bears  any  similitude 
to  the  form  of  the  female  bosom, — whether  it  be  found  in  a 
landscape  with  soft  gradations  of  rising  and  descending  surface, 
or  in  the  form  of  some  antique  vases,  or  in  the  works  of  the 
pencil  or  chisel, — we  feel  a  general  glow  of  delight  which  seems 
to  influence  all  our  senses ;  and  if  the  object  be  not  too  large, 
we  experience  an  attraction  to  embrace  it  with  our  arms,  and 
to  salute  it  with  our  lips,  as  we  did  in  our  early  infancy  the  bosom 
of  our  mother."* 

One  of  the  happiest  illustrations  of  ridicule  being  the  test  of 
truth,  is  the  reply  of  Sheridan  to  this  theory  of  Beauty.  "  I  sup 
pose,"  said  he,  "  that  the  child  brought  up  by  hand,  would  feel 
all  these  emotions  at  the  sight  of  a  wooden  spoon !" 

Zoonomia,  i.  145. 


SEVENTH  EPOCH. 


SECOND  CRISIS  :    IDEALISM,  SKEPTICISM,  AND  SENSATIONAL 
ISM  PRODUCING  THE  REACTION  OF  COMMON  SENSE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

EEID. 

DUGALD  STEWART  opens  his  Account  of  the  Life  and  Writings 
of  Thomas  Reid  with  remarking  that  the  life  was  "  uncommonly 
barren  of  those  incidents  which  furnish  materials  for  biography  ;" 
and  as  our  space  is  scanty,  we  will  content  ourselves  with  a  bare 
enumeration  of  such  facts  as  may  be  useful  for  reference.  Thomas 
Reid  was  born  in  1710,  at  Strachan  in  Kincardineshire.  He 
was  educated  at  Marischal  College,  Aberdeen.  In  1752  he  occu 
pied  the  chair  of  Moral  Philosophy  in  Aberdeen.  In  1764  ap 
peared  his  Inquiry  into  the  Human  Mind  on  the  Principles  of 
Common  Sense.  "In  1763*  the  Inquiry  received  a  still  more 
substantial  testimony  of  approbation  from  the  University  of 
Glasgow,"  in  the  offer  of  the  chair  of  Moral  Philosophy,  vacant 
by  the  resignation  of  Adam  Smith.  In  1780  Reid  resigned  his 
office,  and  passed  the  remaining  years  of  his  life  in  retirement 
and  study.  In  1785  appeared  his  Essays  on  the  Intellectual 
Powers.  He  died  in  Glasgow  iu  1796,  having  survived  four  of 
his  children. 


*  We  follow  Stewart ;  but  there  must  be  some  error  here.  If  the  Inquiry 
was  not  published  till  1764,  Reid  could  not  in  1763  have  been  offered  the 
chair  at  Glasgow  as  a  "  testimony  of  approbation." 


REID.  619 

Reid's  philosophy  made  a  great  stir  at  first,  but  has  for  some 
years  past 'been  sinking  into  merited  neglect.  The  appeal  to 
Common  Sense  as  arbiter  in  Philosophy,  is  now  pretty  well  un 
derstood  to  be  on  a  par  with  Dr.  Johnson's  kicking  a  stone  as  a 
refutation  of  Berkeley.  Indeed  Dugald  Stewart  himself  was  fully 
alive  to  the  inconsequence  of  such  an  argument,  and  endeavored 
to  shield  his  master  by  saying  that  the  phrases  "Common  Sense" 
and  "  Instinct"  were  unhappily  chosen.  Unfortunately  they  were 
not  mere  phrases  with  Reid ;  they  were  principles.  It  is  impos 
sible  to  read  the  Inquiry  and  not  see  that  Reid  took  his  stand 
upon  Common  Sense  ;*  and  Beattie  and  Oswald,  his  immediate 
disciples,  are  still  more  open  to  the  charge. 

It  would  carry  us  to  great  lengths  if  we  were  to  examine  all 
the  questionable  tenets  contained  in  the  Philosophy  of  Common 
Sense.  We  cannot  however  pass  the  supposed  triumph  over 
Locke,  who  said  that  personal  identity  consists  in  Consciousness ; 
"  that  is,"  continues  Reid,  "  if  you  are  conscious  you  did  such  a 
thing  a  twelvemonth  ago,  this  consciousness  of  what  is  past  can 
signify  nothing  else  but  the  remembrance  that  I  did  it;  so 
Locke's  principle  must  be,  that  Identity  consists  in  remembrance ; 
and,  consequently,  a  man  must  lose  his  personal  identity  with 
regard  to  every  thing  he  forgets."  Here  Locke  is  altogether 
misstated.  Consciousness  does  not  resolve  itself  into  any  single 
act  of  memory,  as  Reid  would  here  have  us  believe,  nor  can  per 
sonal  identity  be  limited  to  any  one  act.  I  have  the  conscious 
ness  of  a  certain  mental  state,  therewith  is  connected  the  re 
membrance  of  some  anterior  state,  which  was  also  connected 
with  an  anterior  state,  and  so  on.  The  chain  is  made  up  of 
many  links,  and  although  some  of  these  may  be  out  of  sight,  not 
one  is  broken.  I  am  connected  with  my  boyhood  by  a  regular 
series  of  transmitted  acts  of  consciousness.  I  may  have  forgotten 

*  "  I  despise  Philosophy,  and  renounce  its  guidance :  let  my  soul  dwell 
with  Common  Sense."  (Inquiry,  ch.  i.  §  3.)  Let  it  be  observed  in  passing, 
that  by  Reid's  disciples  the  Inquiry  is  always  regarded  as  his  best  work  j 
the  Essays  were  written  in  old  age. 


620  REID. 

a  thousand  things,  but  I  have  not  forgotten  myself :  if  one  act 
performed  yesterday  is  forgotten  to-day,  all  are  not  forgotten ; 
and  to  remember  one,  however  indistinctly,  is  sufficient  to  keep 
up  the  continuity  of  consciousness.  Let  those  who  fancy  the 
sentiment  of  personal  identity  does  not  consist  in  the  conscious 
ness  of  personal  identity,  show  us  in  what  it  does  consist. 

We  come  now  to  Reid's  great  achievement,  that  upon  which 
he  declared  his  philosophical  fame  to  rest :  the  refutation  of 
Berkeley  and  Hume  by  the  refutation  of  the  Ideal  theory.  This 
he  considered  as  his  contribution  to  philosophy ;  this  has  been 
made  the  monument  of  his  glory.  It  appears  to  us,  after  a  long 
acquaintance  with  his  writings,  and  a  careful  perusal  of  what  his 
critics  and  admirers  have  advanced,  that  his  sole  merit  in  this 
respect  is  that  of  having  called  attention  to  some  abuses  of  lan 
guage,  and  to  some  examples  of  metaphors  mistaken  for  facts. 
How  much  confusion  the  word  "  idea"  has  always  created  need 
scarcely  be  alluded  to ;  and  any  attempt  to  destroy  the  accepta 
tion  of  the  word  as  tantamount  to  image,  must  be  welcomed  as 
salutary.  So  far  let  us  be  grateful  to  Reid.  Locke's  use  of  the 
word  "  idea"  as  signifying  "  a  thought"  instead  of  an  "  image," 
has  misled  thousands.  But  whatever  abuses  may  have  crept  in 
with  the  use  of  the  word  idea,  it  seems  to  us  quite  clear  that 
Berkeley  and  Hume  are  not  to  be  refuted  by  refuting  the  hy 
pothesis  of  ideas,  as  Reid  and  his  school  suppose. 

Let  us,  to  avoid  useless  discussion,  take  it  for  granted  that 
philosophers  did  adopt  the  theory  of  ideas  which  Reid  combats ; 
let  us  also  grant  that  Reid  has  overturned  that  theory.  What 
advance  is  made  towards  a  solution  of  the  problem  ?  Not  one 
step.  The  dilemma  into  which  Hume  threw  Philosophy  remains 
the  same  as  ever.  As  I  cannot  transcend  the  sphere  of  my  Con 
sciousness,  I  can  never  know  things  except  as  they  act  upon  me 
— as  they  affect  my  Consciousness.  In  other  words,  a  knowledge 
of  an  external  world  otherwise  than  as  it  appears  to  my  Sense, 
which  transforms  and  distorts  it,  is  impossible. 

This  proposition  may  be  said  to  form  the  ground  of  Skepti- 


REID.  621 

cism.  Now,  we  ask,  how  is  that  proposition  affected  by  over 
throwing  the  ideal  theory  ?  What  does  it  signify  whether  the 
"affections  of  my  consciousness"  be  regarded  as  "images"  or 
not  ?  They  do  not  remain  less  purely  subjective  which  ever  way 
we  regard  them.  They  are  changes  in  me.  The  main  position 
of  Skepticism  is  precisely  this  subjectivity  of  knowledge.  Be 
cause  we  cannot  transcend  consciousness,  we  can  never  know 
things  per  se.  Reid  acknowledges  that  we  cannot  know  things 
per  se  ;  but  he  says  that  we  must  believe  in  them,  because  in 
what  we  do  know  their  existence  is  suggested.  This  is  exactly 
the  opinion  of  Locke ;  nay  more,  it  is  the  doctrine  of  Hume :  for 
he  says  that  we  do  believe  in  an  external  world,  though  we  have 
no  good  reason  for  doing  so.  Sir  J.  Mackintosh  relates,  that  he 
once  observed  to  Dr.  Thomas  Brown  that  he  thought  Reid  and 
Hume  differed  more  in  words  than  opinions :  Brown  answered, 
"  Yes,  Reid  bawled  out  we  must  believe  in  an  outward  world ; 
but  added,  in  a  whisper,  we  can  give  no  reason  for  our  belief. 
Hume  cries  out  we  can  give  no  reason  for  such  a  notion ;  and 
whispers,  I  own  we  cannot  get  rid  of  it." 

Reid  ought  to  have  seen  that  his  refutation  of  the  ideal  theory 
left  Idealism  and  Skepticism  untouched  :*  for  either  doctrine  it 
matters  little  how  the  knowledge  be  acquired,  so  that  it  be  en 
tirely  subjective.  The  argument  brought  forward  by  Dugald 
Stewart — that  the  belief  in  the  existence  of  an  external  world 
is  one  of  the  Fundamental  Laws  of  Human  Belief — is  more  phil 
osophical  ;  but  when  he  says  that  Berkeley's  Idealism  was  owing 
to  the  unhappy  and  unphilosophical  attempt  of  Descartes  to 
prove  the  existence  of  the  world,  he  forgets  that  Idealism  was 
known  in  the  ancient  schools  long  before  any  one  thought  of 
proving  the  existence  of  matter.  Moreover,  although  Stewart's 
formula  is  not  open  to  the  same  objections  as  Reid's,  yet  it  leaves 
the  vital  question  untouched. 

No  one  doubts  that  we  believe  in  the  existence  of  an  external 

*  In  fact,  Malebranche's  Idealism,  which  is  very  similar  to  Berkeley's,  is 
founded  on  a  theory  of  Perception  almost  identical  with  Reid's. 


622  REID. 

world.  Idealism  never  questions  the  fact.  The  only  doubt  is, 
whether  that  belief  be  objectively  as  well  as  subjectively  true. 
To  say  that  the  belief  in  objective  existence  is  a  Fundamental 
Law,  is  simply  saying  that  we  are  so  constituted  that  we  are 
forced  to  attribute  external  reality  to  our  sensations.  As  well 
say  we  are  so  constituted  that  fire  applied  to  our  bodies  will  give 
us  pain.  We  are  so  constituted.  What  then  ?  Does  this  ad 
vance  us  one  step  ?  Not  one.  We  have  still  to  seek  some  proof 
of  the  laws  of  our  constitution  being  the  measure  of  the  laws  of 
other  existences — still  to  seek  how  what  is  true  of  the  subjective 
must  necessarily  be  true  of  the  objective. 

Thus,  granting  to  Stewart  all  he  claims,  we  see  that  he  does 
not  attain  to  the  heart  of  the  question ;  and,  strictly  speaking, 
he  does  not  touch  Berkeley  at  all ;  he  only  touches  Hume. 
For  what  answer  can  it  be  to  Berkeley,  to  say  that  our  Belief  in 
matter  is  a  Fundamental  Law,  not  to  be  questioned  ?  Berkeley 
would  reply:  "Exactly;  I  said  as  much.  I  said  that  men  be 
lieved  their  senses,  and  believed  that  what  they  saw  was  out  of 
them.  This  is  the  law  of  human  nature  :  God  has  so  ordained 
it.  But  that  which  men  do  not  believe,  is  the  existence  of  an 
occult  substance,  an  imaginary  world  lying  underneath  all  ap 
pearances.  You  do  not  mean  to  assert  that  the  belief  in  this  sub 
stance  is  a  Fundamental  Law  ?  If  you  do,  you  must  be  mad." 
Stewart's  answer  is  thus  shown  to  be  quite  beside  the  mark. 

Reid  constantly  declares  that  no  reason  can  be  given  for  our 
belief;  it  must  be  referred  to  an  original  instinctive  principle  of 
our  constitution,  implanted  in  us  for  that  express  purpose.  If 
this  be  so,  we  ask,  upon  what  pretence  does  Reid  claim  the 
merit  of  having  refuted  Idealism  and  Skepticism  by  refuting  the 
ideal  hypothesis?  If  instinct  and  not  reason  is  to  settle  the 
question,  then  has  the  ideal  hypothesis  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  if 
the  refutation  of  the  ideal  hypothesis  sufficed,  then  has  instinct 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  "  To  talk  of  Dr.  Reid,"  said  the  Quar 
terly,  in  its  review  of  Stewart's  Second  Dissertation,  "  as  if  his 
writings  had  opposed  a  barrier  to  the  prevalence  of  Skeptical 


KEID.  623 

philosophy,  is  an  evident  mistake.  Dr.  Reid  successfully  refuted 
the  principles  by  which  Berkeley  and  Hume  endeavored  to 
establish  their  conclusions;  but  the  conclusions  themselves  he 
himself  adopted  as  the  very  premises  from  which  he  reasons. 
The  impossibility  of  proving  the  existence  of  a  material  world 
from  *  reason,  or  experience,  or  instruction,  or  habit,  or  any  other 
principle  hitherto  known  to  philosophers,'  is  the  argument  and 
the  only  argument  by  which  he  endeavors  to  force  upon  us  his 
theory  of  instinctive  principles." 

It  appears,  then,  that  inasmuch  as  Reid  declares  instinct  to  be 
the  only  principle  upon  which  we  can  found  our  belief  in  an  ex 
ternal  world,  his  argument  against  Berkeley  is  trebly  vicious. 
First,  because  the  belief  was  never  questioned  ;  secondly,  because 
although  we  must  act  according  to  our  instincts,  such  a  neces 
sity  is  no  proof  that  our  beliefs  are  true  ;  thirdly,  because  if  in 
stinct,  and  not  reason,  is  to  be  the  arbiter,  the  attack  on  the 
ideal  hypothesis  is  utterly  beside  the  question. 

Thus  we  see  that,  granting  to  Reid  the  glory  he  claims  of 
having  destroyed  the  ideal  hypothesis,  he  has  only  destroyed  an 
outpost,  fancying  it  to  be  the  fortress.  A  few  words  on  his  own 
theory  of  perception  may  not  be  out  of  place  here. 

He  justly  enough  declared  the  ideal  hypothesis  to  be  gratui 
tous.  We  have  no  reason  for  supposing  that  the  mind  perceives 
images  of  things  instead  of  the  things  themselves.  But  he  over 
looks,  or  rather  denies,  the  fact  that  we  perceive  things  mediate 
ly  ;  he  says  we  perceive  them  immediately.  His  explanations 
are  contradictory  and  confused,  but  he  repeats  the  assertion  so 
often,  that  there  can  be  no  doubt  he  meant  to  say  we  perceive 
things  immediately  :  the  mind  stands  face  to  face  with  the  thing, 
and  perceives  it  immediately,  without  any  medium  of  ideas, 
images,  eidola,  or  the  like.  In  this  we  believe  him  utterly  in  the 
wrong  ;  his  battle  against  "  ideas"  carried  him  too  far.  It  is  one 
thing  to  say  that  ive  are  affected  by  the  things,  and  not  by  images 
of  things ;  and  another  thing  to  say  that  we  perceive  things  im 
mediately.  The  former  is  correct ;  the  latter  is  in  direct  contra- 


624:  REID. 

diction  with,  all  we  know  of  perception ;  and  Reid  constantly 
contradicts  himself  on  the  point. 

"When  I  attend,"  he  says,  "as  carefully  as  I  can  to  what 
passes  in  my  mind,  it  appears  evident  that  the  very  thing  I  saw 
yesterday,  and  the  fragrance  I  smelled,  are  now  the  immediate 
objects  of  my  mind  when  I  remember  it.  ...  Upon  the  strictest 
attention,  memory  appears  "to  me  to  have  the  things  that  are 
past,  and  not  present  ideas  for  its  objects." 

This  is  his  position  against  the  ideal  hypothesis,  which  as 
sumes  that  nothing  is  perceived  but  what  is  in  the  mind  which 
perceives  it;  that  we  do  not  really  perceive  things  which  are 
external,  but  only  certain  images  and  pictures  of  them  imprinted 
on  the  mind.  The  position  is  untenable.  The  very  thing,  the 
rose,  of  which  he  thinks,  is  not  an  immediate  object  at  all :  it  is 
elsewhere.  The  fragrance  cannot  even  be  recalled ;  that  is  to 
say,  cannot  befelt  again,  but  only  thought.  All  we  can  remem 
ber  is  the  fact  of  having  been  affected  by  the  rose  in  a  certain 
manner :  that  affection  we  call  fragrance ;  we  cannot  recall  the 
affection.  Reid  could  hardly,  therefore,  have  meant  what  his 
words  literally  express.  Perhaps  he  meant,  that  when  we  think 
of  the  rose  and  the  fragrance,  the  object  of  which  we  think  is 
the  rose,  not  an  idea  of  the  rose.  But  what  a  truism !  He 
says,  that  "  in  memory  the  things  that  are  past,  and  not  present 
ideas,  are  the  objects  of  the  mind."  This  is  either  a  needless 
truism  or  a  falsism.  Let  us  alter  the  sentence  thus — "  In  mem 
ory  the  things  thought  of  are  not  themselves  present  to  the  mind, 
but  the  thoughts  only  are  present  to  it."  Reid  would  not  dis 
pute  this — could  not  dispute  it :  yet  it  is  only  a  more  guarded 
statement  of  the  ideal  hypothesis  ;  it  substitutes  "  thoughts"  for 
"ideas."  He  was  misled  by  the  ambiguity  of  the  word  "  object," 
which  he  uses  as  if  meaning  simply  what  the  mind  is  thinking 
of ;  and  of  course  the  mind  thinks  of  the  thing,  and  not  of  the 
idea.  But  the  ideal  hypothesis  takes  "  object"  to  be  that  which 
is  immediately  present  to — face  to  face — with  the  mind,  viz.,  an 
idea,  or  thought ;  and  of  course  the  mind  thinks  by  its  thoughts  : 


REID.  625 

it  may  think  about  the  thing,  but  it  is  through  the  medium  of 
thought. 

The  difference  is  this : — The  Idealist  says,  that  when  things 
affect  us,  our  sensations  are  what  we  perceive,  and  not  the  things 
producing  those  sensations.  Reid  says,  we  feel  our  sensations, 
but  therewith  also  we  perceive  the  things.  The  Idealist  further 
says,  that  when  we  think  of  things,  the  immediate  object  face  to 
face  with  the  mind  is  not  a  thing  but  an  idea  (thought).  Reid 
says  the  object  is  the  very  thing :  which  is  either  an  absurdity, 
or  else  does  not  differ  from  the  ideal  hypothesis. 

We  are  quite  ready  to  admit  that  the  pretended  separation 
of  thoughts  from  thinking,  and  the  making  thoughts  "objects," 
is  vicious ;  and  therefore  Reid's  language  is  perhaps  less  objec 
tionable.  But  we  must  confess  that  we  see  no  other  advantage 
he  gains  over  his  adversaries.  He  does  not  pretend  that  our 
sensations  are  at  all  like  their  causes ;  nay,  he  fancies  that  he 
destroys  the  ideal  hypothesis  by  insisting  on  the  want  of  resem 
blance  between  matter  and  our  sensations.  He  says,  over  and 
over  again,  that  the  external  world  is  in  no  respect  like  our  sen 
sations  of  it.  "  Indeed,  no  man  can  conceive  any  sensation  to 
resemble  any  known  quality  of  bodies.  Nor  can  any  man  show, 
by  any  good  argument,  that  all  our  sensations  might  not  have 
been  as  they  are,  though  no  body,  nor  quality  of  body,  had  ever 
existed."*  This  granted,  the  question  arises,  How  do  you  know 
any  thing  of  the  external  world  ?  Reid  answers,  "  It  is  owing  to 
an  original  instinct  implanted  in  us  for  that  purpose."  Push  the 
question  further,  drive  him  into  a  corner,  and  bid  him  tell  you 
what  that  instinct  enables  you  to  know  of  matter,  and  he  will 
answer,  "  In  sensation  there  is  suggested  to  us  a  cause  of  that 
sensation  in  the  quality  of  a  body  capable  of  producing  it.  This 
is  Locke's  view. 

The  great  point  in  Reid's  theory  is,  that  with  our  sensations 
are  joined  perceptions.  "The  senses  have  a  double  province,"  he 


Inquiry,  ch.  v.  §  2. 

27 


626  REID. 

says ;  "  they  furnish  us  with  a  variety  of  sensations,  some  pleas 
ant,  others  painful,  and  others  indifferent;  at  the  same  time  they 
give  us  a  conception,  and  an  invincible  belief  of  the  existence  of 
external  objects.  This  conception  and  belief,  which  nature  pro 
duces  by  means  of  the  senses,  we  call  perception"*  This,  upon 
which  so  much  stress  is  laid  that  philosophers  are  said  to  have 
been  always  in  error  because  they  overlooked  it,  we  regard  as  a 
remarkable  instance  of  Reid's  want  of  subtlety.  Neither  Berke 
ley  nor  Hume  denied  the  fact  of  our  belief  in  the  externality  of 
the  causes  of  sensations  :  Berkeley  denied  that  these  causes  had 
an  occult  substratum ;  Hume  denied  that  any  reason  could  be 
given  for  our  belief  in  their  externality.  What  force  then  has 
"  Perception  ?"  It  is  nothing  more  than  that  "  belief,"  accord 
ing  to  Reid ;  though  to  call  perception  a  belief  is,  to  say  the 
least,  a  somewhat  inaccurate  use  of  language.  But  grant  all  he 
wishes,  and  you  grant  that  with  our  sensations  there  is  an  ac 
companying  belief  in  the  existence  of  an  external  cause  of  those 
sensations.  Berkeley  would  answer,  "  Very  true  ;  but  that  cause 
is  not  unthinking  matter."  Hume  would  answer,  "  Very  true ; 
but  we  can  give  no  reason  for  our  belief;  we  can  know  nothing 
of  the  cause."  Reid  can  only  retort,  "  Perception  is  belief :"  a 
retort  which  has  been  deemed  satisfactory  by  his  school ;  which 
really  is  only  an  abuse  of  language ;  and  which  moreover  has 
the  further  disadvantage  of  being  available  only  as  an  argument 
against  Hume  ;  for  against  Berkeley  it  is  powerless.  If  percep 
tion  is  belief,  and  we  perceive  an  external  world,  Hume  may  be 
answered  when  he  says  we  have  no  grounds  for  our  belief.  But 
Berkeley  is  not  answered.  He  says  that  we  do  believe  in  an  ex 
ternal  world ;  but  that  world  is  not  a  world  of  unthinking  mat 
ter — it  is  a  world  of  divine  agency.  Reid  would  not  pretend 
that  in  sensation  or  perception  we  can  distinguish  the  nature  of 
the  causes  which  affect  us ;  he  constantly  tells  us  that  we  can 
not  know  what  those  causes  are,  but  only  that  there  are  causes. 


Essays  on  Intellectual  Powers,  ii.  ch.  xvii. 


REID.  627 

As  long  as  the  noumenal  world  is  removed  from  our  inspection, 
so  long  must  Berkeley  remain  unrelated  by  any  theory  of  per 
ception.  The  error  of  his  system,  as  we  endeavored  to  show,  is 
in  the  gratuitousness  of  his  assumption  with  respect  to  the  imme 
diate  agency  of  the  Deity. 

Reid  says,  that  if  we  grant  Berkeley's  premise — viz.  "  we  can 
have  no  conception  of  any  material  thing  which  is  not  like  some 
sensation  in  our  minds" — then  are  the  conclusions  of  Idealism 
and  Skepticism  unanswerable.  This  premise  therefore  he  dis 
putes.  Now  attend  to  his  challenge  : — "  This  I  would  therefore 
humbly  propose,  as  an  experiment  um  crucis,  by  which  the  ideal 
system  must  stand  or  fall ;  and  it  brings  the  matter  to  a  short 
issue  :  Extension,  figure,  and  motion  may,  any  one  or  all  of  them, 
be  taken  for  the  subject  of  this  experiment.  Either  they  are 
ideas  of  sensation,  or  they  are  not.  If  any  one  of  them  can  be 
shown  to  be  an  idea  of  sensation,  or  to  have  the  least  resemblance 
to  any  sensation,  I  lay  my  hand  upon  my  mouth  and  give  up  all 
pretence  to  reconcile  reason  to  common  sense  in  this  matter, 
and  must  suffer  the  ideal  skepticism  to  triumph."*  It  was  not 
till  after  repeated  perusals  that  we  caught  the  significance  of 
this  passage ;  and  are  not  quite  positive  that  we  have  understood 
it  now.  To  admit  it  to  have  any  force  at  all,  we  must  understand 
"  ideas  of  sensation"  as  "  images  of  sensation."  Certainly,  exten 
sion  is  no  copy  of  any  one  sensation.  But  if  Reid  means  to  say 
that  the  idea  of  extension  is  not  the  result  of  complex  sensations 
which  a  body  excites  in  us — if  he  means  to  say  that  the  idea 
of  extension  is  not  an  abstract  idea  by  which  we  express  a  cer 
tain  property  of  bodies,  a  property  known  to  us  only  through  sen 
sation — then  must  we  cease  all  dispute,  and  leave  him  in  pos 
session  of  his  wonderful  discovery. 

Reid's  theory  of  perception  may  be  thus  stated : — External 
objects  occasion  certain  sensations  in  us ;  with  these  sensations 
we  perceive  the  existence  of  certain  qualities  capable  of  producing 

*  Inquiry,  ch.  v.  §  7. 


628  REID. 

them :  these  he  distinguishes  into  primary  and  secondary.  The 
primary,  he  says,  we  perceive  immediately  j  the  second,  mediately. 

And  this  is  the  theory  by  which,  with  the  aid  of  an  "  original 
instinct"  (some  instincts  then  are  acquired  ?),  he  is  supposed  to 
have  refuted  Idealism.  Any  one  may  see  that  Berkeley  might 
readily  have  relinquished  his  ideal  hypothesis,  and  accepted 
Reid's,  with  perfect  security  for  Idealism.  The  "unknown 
causes,"  which  Reid  calls  "qualities,"  Berkeley  calls  "divine 
laws."  The  difference  is  merely  nominal. 

This  much  with  respect  to  Idealism.  With  respect  to  Hume, 
the  theory  is  almost  as  harmless.  Hume  would  say,  "All  that 
is  given  in  sensation  is  sensation ;  your  "  perception"  (which  you 
call  belief)  of  qualities  amounts  to  nothing  more  than  a  suppo 
sition — a  necessary  one,  I  admit;  but  I  have  always  said  that 
our  belief  in  external  causes  of  sensation  was  an  irresistible  preju 
dice  ;  and  my  argument  is,  that  we  have  nothing  but  the  preju 
dice  as  a  proof — reason,  we  have  none." 

Finally,  with  respect  to  Locke,  it  will  in  the  first  place  be  seen 
that  Reid's  solution  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  that  given  by 
Locke ;  in  the  second  place,  the  boasted  refutation  of  the  ideal 
hypothesis  is  always  supposed  by  Reid's  school  to  be  a  refutation 
of  Locke's  view  of  the  origin  of  knowledge ;  and  this  is  a  very 
great  mistake.  Because  Berkeley  and  Hume  pushed  Locke's 
system  to  conclusions  from  which  he  wisely  shrank,  it  has  been 
generally  supposed  that  his  account  of  the  origin  of  our  knowl 
edge  is  indissolubly  bound  up  with  the  ideal  hypothesis,  by  it  to 
stand  or  fall.  This  probably  is  the  meaning  of  the  vulgar  error 
that  Locke's  view  of  knowledge  leads  to  atheism.  It  led  to 
Hume.  In  disproof  of  Reid's  supposition  we  answer,  firstly, 
Idealism  is  not  iudissolubly  bound  up  with  the  ideal  hypothesis, 
although  Berkeley  may  have  adopted  that  hypothesis ;  secondly, 
Locke's  system  is  altogether  independent  of  the  hypothesis,  and 
in  his  Review  of  the  doctrines  of  Malebranche  he  very  distinctly 
and  emphatically  denies  it.  The  force  of  this  observation  will 
better  be  appreciated  when  it  is  remembered  that  although 


REID.  629 

Locke's  language  is  notoriously  unguarded  and  wavering,  all  his 
reasonings  are  founded  on  the  use  of  the  word  "  ideas"  as  synony 
mous  with  "  notions"  or  thoughts." 

In  conclusion,  although  we  think  it  has  been  shown  that  the 
Common-Sense  Philosophy  egregiously  failed  in  answering 
Berkeley  and  Hume,  it  was  not  without  service  by  directing  the 
attention  of  mankind  more  exclusively  to  Psychol6gy.  The 
phrases  so  complacently  used  by  Dugald  Stewart  to  express  the 
nature  of  his  inquiries,  namely  "  inductive  metaphysics"  and 
"  experimental  philosophy  of  the  mind,"  are  perhaps  objection 
able  ;  but  few  will  deny  the  value  of  his  Elements,  and  of  Brown's 
Lectures,  works  so  popular  as  to  need  no  further  mention  here. 
The  Analysis  of  the  Mind,  by  the  late  James  Mill,  which  may 
be  regarded  as  the  development  of  Hartley's  doctrine,  stripped 
of  its  physical  hypothesis,  is  less  known ;  but  it  is  a  work  of 
great  value,  and  would  long  ago  have  been  as  popular  had  it 
been  written  in  a  more  engaging  manner.  No  one  interested  in 
these  inquiries  should  omit  studying  it.* 

The  philosophy  of  the  Scotch  School  was  a  protest  against 
Skepticism.  It  failed ;  but  another  protest  was  made  in  Ger 
many,  and  on  philosophical  principles.  That  also  failed,  but  in 
another  way ;  and  the  attempt  was  altogether  more  worthy  of 
Philosophy.  The  reader  foresees  that  we  allude  to  Kant. 


*  Since  the  first  edition  of  this  work,  Sir  W.  Hamilton  has  published  an 
edition  of  Eeid,  illustrated  and  enriched  by  notes  and  dissertations  of  incom 
parable  erudition  and  acuteness.  Respecting  the  interpretation  Sir  William 
gives  to  Reid's  doctrines,  I  will  only  say  that  he  has  shown  what  a  subtle 
mind  can  read  into  the  philosophy  of  common  sense ;  but  he  has  not  in  the 
least  produced  the  conviction  in  me  of  Reid's  having  meant  what  the  illus 
trious  successor  supposed  him  to  have  meant.  At  the  same  time  I  will  add 
that  the  limits  of  my  work  having  restricted  me  to  the  consideration  of  Reid's 
contributions  to  Philosophy  (in  the  narrow  sense  of  the  term),  I  have  not 
done  justice  to  his  many  excellent  qualities  as  a  teacher.  His  works  are  well 
worthy  of  diligent  study,  and  their  spirit  is  eminently  scientific. 


EIGHTH  EPOCH. 


RECURRENCE  TO  THE  FUNDAMENTAL  QUESTION  RESPECTING 
THE  ORIGIN  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

KANT. 

§  I.  LIFE  OF  KANT. 

IMMANUEL  KANT  was  born  at  Konigsberg,  in  Prussia,  22d 
April,  1724.  His  family  was  originally  Scotch,  a  circumstance 
which,  when  taken  in  conjunction  with  his  philosophical  con 
nection  with  Hume,  has  some  little  interest.  His  father  was  a 
saddler,  a  man  of  tried  integrity.  His  mother  was  somewhat 
severe,  but  upright,  speaking  the  truth,  and  exacting  it.  Kant 
was  early  bred  in  a  love  of  truth,  and  had  before  him  such  ex 
amples  of  moral  worth  as  must  materially  have  contributed  to 
form  his  own  inflexible  principles. 

Madame  de  Stael  has  remarked,  that  there  is  scarcely  another 
example,  except  in  Grecian  history,  of  a  life  so  rigorously  philo 
sophical  as  that  of  Kant.  He  lived  to  a  great  age,  and  never 
once  quitted  the  snows  of  murky  Konigsberg.  There  he  passed 
a  calm  and  happy  existence,  meditating,  professing,  and  writing. 
He  had  mastered  all  the  sciences;  he  had  studied  languages, 
and  cultivated  literature.  He  lived  and  died  a  type  of  the  Ger 
man  Professor :  he  rose,  smoked,  drank  his  coffee,  wrote,  lec 
tured,  took  his  daily  walk  always  at  precisely  the  same  hour. 
The  cathedral  clock,  it  was  said,  was  not  more  punctual  in  its 
movements  than  Immanuel  Kant* 

*  He  mentions  having  once  been  kept  two  or  three  days  from  his  pro 
menade  by  reading  Rousseau's  Ernile,  which  had  just  appeared. 


LIFE   OF   KANT.  631 

He  was  early  sent  to  the  University.  There  he  began  and 
there  he  ended  his  career.  Mathematics  and  physics  principally 
occupied  his  attention  at  first;  and  the  success  with  which  he 
pursued  these  studies  soon  manifested  itself  in  various  publica 
tions.  He  predicted  the  existence  of  the  planet  Uranus ;  and 
Herschel  himself,  after  discovering  it,  admitted  Kant's  having 
first  announced  it. 

But  none  of  these  publications  attracted  much  attention  till 
the  renown  of  his  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  had  made  every 
thing  produced  by  him  a  matter  of  interest.  Nor  did  the 
Critique  itself  attract  notice  at  first.  The  novelty  of  its  views, 
the  repulsiveness  of  its  terminology  and  style,  for  some  time  ob 
scured  its  real  value.  This  value  was  at  length  discovered  and 
made  known.  All  Germany  rang  with  praises  of  the  new  phi 
losophy.  Almost  every  "  chair"  was  filled  by  a  Kantist.  Num 
berless  books,  and  not  a  few  pamphlets,  came  rapidly  from  the 
press,  either  attacking  or  defending  the  principles  of  the  Critical 
Philosophy.  Kant  had  likened  himself  to  Copernicus.  The 
disciples  likened  him  both  to  Copernicus  and  Newton ;  for  he 
had  not  only  changed  the  whole  science  of  Metaphysics,  as 
Copernicus  had  changed  the  science  of  Astronomy,  but  had  also 
consummated  the  science  he  originated. 

The  Critique  was,  he  tells  us,  the  product  of  twelve  years' 
meditation.  It  was  written  in  less  than  five  months.  These 
two  facts  sufficiently  explain  the  defects  of  its  composition.  In 
his  long  meditations  he  had  elaborated  his  system,  divided  and 
subdivided  it,  and  completed  its  heavy  and  useless  terminology. 
In  the  rapidity  of  composition  he  had  no  time  for  the  graces  of 
style,  nor  for  that  all-important  clearness  of  structure  which  (de 
pending  as  it  does  upon  the  due  gradation  of  the  parts,  and  upon 
the  clearness  with  which  the  parts  themselves  are  conceived) 
may  be  regarded  as  the  great  desideratum  of  a  philosophical 
style. 

But  in  spite  of  these  defects — defects  which  would  have  been 
pardoned  by  no  public  but  a  German  public — the  Critique  be- 


632  KANT. 

came  celebrated,  and  its  author  had  to  endure  the  penalty  of 
celebrity.  He  was  pestered  with  numerous  calls  of  curious 
strangers,  who  would  not  leave  Konigsberg  without  having  seen 
him.  To  the  curious  were  added  the  admiring.  Enthusiastic 
scholars  undertook  long  journeys  to  see  their  great  master. 
Professor  Reuss  one  day  walked  into  his  study,  saying  brusquely 
that  "he  had  travelled  a  hundred  and  sixty  miles  to  see  and 
speak  with  Kant."  The  visits  became  so  numerous,  that  in  the 
latter  part  of  his  life  he  contented  himself  with  merely  showing 
himself  at  the  door  of  his  study  for  a  few  minutes. 

Kant  never  spoke  of  his  own  system,  and  from  his  house  the 
subject  was  entirely  banished.  He  scarcely  read  any  of  the  at 
tacks  on  his  works :  he  had  enough  of  Philosophy  in  his  study 
and  lecture-room,  and  was  glad  to  escape  from  it  to  the  topics  of 
the  day. 

He  died  on  the  12th  of  February,  1804,  in  the  eightieth  year 
of  his  age,  retaining  his  powers  almost  to  the  last.  He  latterly, 
during  his  illness,  talked  much  of  his  approaching  end.  "I  do 
not  fear  death,"  he  said,  "  for  I  know  how  to  die.  I  assure  you 
that  if  I  knew  this  night  was  to  be  my  last,  I  would  raise  my 
hands  and  say,  *  God  be  praised !'  The  case  would  be  far  differ 
ent  if  I  had  ever  caused  the  misery  of  any  of  his  creatures." 

For  a  picture  of  Kant's  daily  habits,  and  many  interesting 
traits  of  his  character,  the  reader  will  do  well  to  look  at  De 
Quincey's  "  Last  Days  of  Immanuel  Kant,"  in  the  third  volume 
of  his  Miscellanies.  I  cannot  find  space  for  such  details;  nor 
for  more  than  a  passing  mention  of  Kant's  relation  to  Sweden- 
borg,  of  which  such  unjustifiable  use  is  often  made  by  the  ad 
mirers  of  the  latter,  who  proclaim,  with  emphasis,  that  Kant 
testified  to  the  truth  of  Swedenborg's  clairvoyance.  He  did 
nothing  of  the  kind.  In  his  Letter  on  Swcdcnborg*  he  narrates 
two  of  the  reported  cases  of  Swedeuborg's  clairvoyance,  and  says 


*  Kkine  AnfhropologiscJie  ScJiriften  (Theil  vii.  p.  5,  of  Rosenkrantz  and 
Schubert's  ed.). 


KANT'S  HISTORICAL  POSITION.  633 

he  knows  not  how  to  disprove  them,  they  being  supported  by 
such  respectable  testimony ;  but  he  nowhere  testifies  to  them 
himself;  and  in  the  Anthropologic,  §§  35  and  37,*  his  energetic 
contempt  for  Swedenborgianisin  and  all  other  Schwdrmerei  is 
unequivocally  expressed. 

§  II.  KANT'S  HISTORICAL  POSITION. 

There  is  a  notion,  somewhat  widely  spread  through  England, 
that  Kant  was  a  "  dreamer."  He  is  regarded  as  a  sort  of  Mystic ; 
and  the  epithet  "  transcendental"  is  made  to  express  the  superb 
contempt  which  common  sense  feels  for  the  vagaries  of  philoso 
phers.  The  -"dreams  of  the  Kantian  philosophy,"  and  "tran 
scendental  nonsense,"  are  phrases  which,  once  popular,  now  less 
so,  are  still  occasionally  to  be  met  with  in  quarters  where  one 
little  expects  to  find  them. 

We  are  bound  to  say  that,  whatever  the  errors  of  Kantism, 
"  dreaminess"  or  "  mysticism"  are  the  last  qualities  to  be  predi 
cated  of  it.  If  its  terminology  render  it  somewhat  obscure  and 
repulsive,  no  sooner  is  the  language  comprehended,  than  all  ob 
scurity  falls  away,  and  a  system  of  philosophy  is  revealed,  which 
for  rigor,  clearness,  and,  above  all,  intelligibility,  surpasses  by 
many  degrees  systems  hitherto  considered  easy  enough  of  com 
prehension. 

Convinced  that  the  system  of  Kant  is  plainly  intelligible,  and 
finding  that  neither  Kant  himself,  nor  the  generality  of  his  ex 
positors,  have  succeeded  in  overcoming  the  repulsiveness  of  neol 
ogisms  and  a  cumbrous  terminology,!  our  task  must  obviously 

*  Kleine  Anthropologisclie  Scliriften,  zweite  Abtheil.  p.  89  sq. 

t  Since  this  was  written,  we  have  read  the  work  of  Victor  Cousin,  Lemons 
sur  Kant,  vol.  i.  Paris,  1842.  (Translated  into  English  by  Mr.  Henderson, 
London,  1854.)  It  is  not  only  one  of  the  best  expositions  we  have  seen  ;  it 
is  also  the  most  intelligible.  The  chapter  on  Kant  in  M.  Barchou  de  Pen- 
hoen's  useful  work,  Histoire  de  la  Philos.  AlUmande  depuis  Leibnitz  jusqti'a 
Hegel,  2  vols.  Paris,  1836,  may  also  be  read  with  advantage ;  though  incom 
plete,  it  is  intelligible.  Also  Morell's  History  of  Speculative  Philos.  in  the 
Nineteenth  Century.  Headers  of  German  will  do  well  to  read  Chalybaus's 
Historische  Entwickelung  der  Spcatlativen  Philos.  wn  Kant  bis  Hegel  (Dres- 

27* 


634:  KANT. 

be  to  give  an  exposition  of  the  system,  as  far  as  possible,  in  ordi 
nary  philosophical  language ;  and,  by  exhibiting  the  historical 
position  which  it  occupies,  connect  with  it  speculations  already 
familiar  to  the  reader. 

From  Spinoza  to  Kant  the  great  question  had  been  this : — 
Have  we,  or  have  we  not,  any  Ideas  which  can  be  called  necessa 
rily,  absolutely  true  ?  A  question  which  resolved  itself  into  this  : 
Have  we,  or  have  we  not,  any  Ideas  independent  of  Experience  ? 

The  answer  given  by  the  majority  of  thinkers  was,  that  we 
had  no  ideas  independent  of  Experience ;  and  Hume  had  shown 
that  Experience  itself  was  utterly  incompetent  to  assure  us  of 
any  truth  not  simply  relative. 

Experience  irresistibly  led  to  Skepticism.  The  dilemma,  there 
fore,  which  we  signalized  in  the  First  Crisis  of  modern  Philoso 
phy,  again  presented  itself:  Spinozism  or  Skepticism  ?  The 
labors  of  so  many  thinkers  had  only  brought  the  question  round 
to  its  starting-point.  But  Spinozism  was  alarming — Skepticism 
scarcely  less  so.  Before  submitting  to  be  gored  by  either  horn 
of  the  dilemma,  men  looked  about  to  see  if  there  was  no  escape 
possible.  A  temporary  refuge  was  found  by  the  Scotch  School 
in  Common  Sense,  and  by  Kant  in  Criticism. 

Kant  called  his  system  the  Critical  Philosophy.  His  object 
was  to  examine  into  the  nature  of  this  Experience  which  led  to 
Skepticism.  While  men  were  agreed  that  Experience  was  the 
source  of  all  knowledge,  Kant  asked  himself,  What  is  this  Ex 
perience  ? — What  are  its  Elements  ? 

The  problem  he  set  himself  to  solve  was  but  a  new  aspect  of 


den,  1843).  (It  has  been  twice  translated  into  English  :  by  Mr.  Tulk  and  by 
Mr.  Edersheim.)  Miohelet's  Geschichte  der  letzten  Systeme  der  Philos.  in 
Deutschland  von  Kant  bis  Hegel  (Berlin,  1837),  is  a  learned  and  valuable 
work,  but  can  be  read  only  by  the  initiated.  More  generally  useful  than 
any  of  these  is  the  Hist,  de  la  Philos.  Allemande  depnis  Kant  jusqtSa  Hegel, 
by  J.  Wilm,  Paris,  1856.  Kant's  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  has  been  trans 
lated  by  Mr.  Meiklejohn  (Bohris  Philosophical  Library,  1855)  with  so  much 
accuracy  and  ability  that  the  translation  may  be  read  with  entire  confidence; 
which  can  rarely  be  said  of  translations  from  the  German. 


KANT'S  HISTORICAL  POSITION.  635 

the  problem  of  Locke's  Essay.  On  this  deep  and  intricate  ques 
tion  of  human  knowledge  two  opposite  parties  had  been  formed 
— the  one  declaring  that  all  our  knowledge  was  given  in  Expe 
rience,  and  that  all  the  materials  were  derived  from  Sensation, 
and  Reflection  upon  those  materials  ;  the  other  declaring  that 
Sensation  only  furnished  a  portion  of  our  Experience.  This  sec 
ond  party  maintained  that  there  were  Elements  of  knowledge 
which  not  only  were  never  derived  from  Sensation,  but  which 
absolutely  transcended  all  sensation.  Such,  for  instance,  is  the 
idea  of  Substance.  Experience  only  informs  us  of  qualities  :  to 
these  qualities  we  add  a  substratum  which  we  call  Substance  ; 
and  this  idea  of  a  substratum,  which  we  are  compelled  to  add, 
Locke  himself  confesses  we  never  gained  through  any  sensation 
of  matter.  Other  ideas,  such  as  Causality,  Infinity,  Eternity, 
etc.,  are  also  independent  of  Experience  :  ergo,  says  this  school, 
antecedent  to  it. 

In  the  course  of  inquiry,  the  untenableness  of  the  theory  of 
innate  ideas  had  become  apparent.  Descartes  himself,  when 
closely  pressed  by  his  adversaries,  gave  it  up.  Still  the  fact  of 
our  possessing  ideas  apparently  not  derivable  from  experience, 
remained ;  and  this  fact  was  to  be  explained.  To  explain  it, 
Leibnitz  asserted  that  although  all  knowledge  begins  with  Sensa 
tion,  it  is  not  all  derived  from  Sensation  ;  the  mind  furnishes  its 
quota ;  and  what  it  furnishes  has  the  character  of  universality, 
necessity,  consequently  of  truth,  stamped  on  it.  This  doctrine, 
slightly  modified,  is  popularly  known  as  the  doctrine  of  "  original 
instincts" — of  "  Fundamental  Laws  of  Belief." 

Kant  also  recognized  the  fact  insisted  on  by  the  adversaries 
of  the  Sensational  School ;  and  this  fact  he  set  himself  carefully 
to  examine.  His  first  object  was  therefore  a  Criticism  of  the 
operations  of  the  mind. 

Kant  considered  that  his  conception  of  a  purely  critical  phi 
losophy  was  entirely  original.*  No  one  before  him  had  thought 

*  And  Sir  W.  Hamilton  repeats  the  statement :  Discussions,  p.  15. 


636  KANT. 

of  thus  subjecting  Reason  itself  to  a  thoroughly  critical  investi 
gation,  in  order  to  reach  answers  to  such  questions  as  :  Are  a 
priori  synthetic  judgments  possible  ?  Is  a  science  of  Metaphys 
ics  possible  ?  Certainly  no  one  had  isolated  the  a  priori  ele 
ments  of  knowledge  from  those  given  in  Experience,  as  Kant 
isolated  them,  to  build  a  system  thereon ;  but  the  whole  tend 
ency  of  speculative  development  since  Hobbes,  had  been,  as 
we  have  seen,  towards  the  investigation  of  the  grounds  of  cer 
titude. 

On  interrogating  his  Consciousness,  Kant  found  that  neither 
of  the  two  ordinary  explanations  would  account  for  the  phenom 
ena  :  the  abstract  Ideas  we  have,  such  as  Time,  Space,  Causal 
ity,  etc.,  could  not  be  resolved  into  Experience  alone  :  nor,  on 
the  other  hand,  although  a  priori,  could  they  be  supposed  ab 
solutely  independent  of  Experience,  since  they  are,  as  it  were, 
only  the  forms  (necessary  conditions)  of  our  Experience. 

There  are  not  two  sources  of  Knowledge,  said  he :  on  the  one 
side,  external  objects,  and  on  the  other,  human  understanding. 
Knowledge  has  but  one  source,  and  that  is  the  union  of  object 
and  subject.  Thus,  water  is  the  union  of  oxygen  and  hydrogen  ; 
but  you  cannot  say  that  water  has  two  causes,  oxygen  and  hy 
drogen  ;  it  has  only  one  cause,  namely,  the  union  of  the  two. 

In  this  conception  the  existence  of  two  distinct  factors  is  as 
sumed.  "  That  all  our  knowledge  begins  with  Experience,"  he 
says,  "there  can  be  no  doubt.  For  how  is  it  possible  that  the 
faculty  of  cognition  should  be  awakened  into  exercise  otherwise 
than  by  means  of  objects  which  affect  our  senses,  and  partly  of 
themselves  produce  representations  ( Vorstellungeri),  partly  rouse 
our  powers  of  understanding  into  activity,  to  compare,  to  con 
nect,  or  to  separate  these,  and  so  to  convert  the  raw  material  of 
our  sensuous  impressions  into  a  knowledge  of  objects  which  is 
called  Experience  ?  In  respect  of  time,  therefore,  no  knowledge 
of  ours  is  antecedent  to  Experience,  but  begins  with  it.  But 
although  all  our  knowledge  begins  with  Experience,  it  by  no 
means  follows  that  all  arises  out  of  Experience.  For,  on  the  con- 


KANT'S  HISTORICAL  POSITION.  637 

trary,  it  is  quite  possible  that  our  empirical  knowledge  (Erfahr- 
unyserkenntniss)  is  a  compound  of  that  which  we  receive  through 
impressions,  and  that  which  the  faculty  of  cognition  supplies 
from  itself  (sensuous  impressions  giving  merely  the  occasion),  an 
addition  which  we  cannot  distinguish  from  the  original  element 
given  by  sense,  till  long  practice  has  made  us  attentive  to  and 
skilful  in  separating  it.  It  is  therefore  a  question  which  requires 
close  investigation,  and  is  not  to  be  answered  at  first  sight — 
whether  there  exists  a  knowledge  altogether  independent  of  Ex 
perience,  and  even  of  all  sensuous  impressions."* 

To  investigate  this  is  the  purpose  of  Criticism. 

The  whole  world  is  to  us  a  series  of  Phenomena.  Are  these 
Appearances  the  production  of  the  Mind  to  which  they  appear  ; 
or  are  they  the  pure  presentation  of  the  things  themselves  ? 
Idealism  or  Realism  ?  Neither  ;  yet  both.  The  Mind  and  the 
object  co-operating  produce  the  Appearance  or  sensuous  impres 
sion.  In  their  union  Perception  is  effectuated. 

The  Mind  has  certain  materials  furnished  it,  and  on  these 
materials  it  imposes  certain  forms  or  conditions  of  its  own.  These 
forms  alone  make  perception  possible,  since  they  constitute  the 
modes  of  the  mind's  operation.  If  we  had  only  sensations — that 
is,  supposing  objects  acted  upon  us,  and  we  did  not  also  act  upon 
them — the  result  would  be  no  more  than  that  of  the  wind  play 
ing  on  the  ^Eolian  harp ;  Experience  would  be  impossible.  To 
make  Experience  possible,  the  mind  must  grasp  objects  in  a  syn 
thesis  of  the  objects  and  the  forms  of  the  perceptive  power. 

Kant's  Criticism  was  directed  against  Locke  on  the  oiie  hand, 
in  establishing  that  we  have  ideas  independent  of  Experience  ; 
and  against  Hume  on  the  other,  in  establishing  that  these  ideas 
have  a  character  of  universality,  necessity,  and  irresistibility. 
But — and  the  point  is  important — his  Criticism  proved  that 
these  ideas,  although  universal  and  certain,  could  not  be  called 
absolutely  true  :  they  were  only  subjectively  true.  This  was  fall- 

*  Kritilc,  Einleitung  (Translation,  p.  1). 


638  KANT. 

ing  back  into  Hume's  position  ;  since  although  Hume  called  be 
lief  in  causality  the  effect  of  habit,  and  Kant  called  it  a  law  of 
the  mind,  yet  both  agreed  in  denying  to  it  any  objective  truth  ; 
both  agreed  that  a  knowledge  of  things  per  se  was  impossible. 

We  regard  the  result  of  Kant's  investigation  of  the  elements 
of  Thought  as  nothing  less  than  a  scientific  basis  for  Skepticism. 
He  likens  his  philosophical  reform  to  the  reform  introduced  into 
Astronomy  by  Copernicus.*  Finding  the  labors  of  men  unsatis 
factory,  Copernicus  bethought  him  that  perhaps  success  might 
crown  his  efforts  if  he  shifted  his  ground,  if,  instead  of  assuming 
that  the  sun  turned  round  the  earth,  he  were  to  assume  that  the 
earth  turned  round  the  sun.  So  Kant  says,  that  the  ordinary 
assumption  of  our  knowledge  following  the  order  of  external  ob 
jects  seemed  to  him  better  if  reversed,  and  if  we  were  to  assume 
that  the  objects  obeyed  the  laws  of  our  mental  constitution.  And 
he  calls  his  system  critical,  because  it  is  founded  on  an  examina 
tion  of  our  cognitive  faculties.  Both  the  name  and  the  compar 
ison  appear  to  us  erroneous.  An  examination  of  the  cognitive 
faculties  was,  as  we  have  often  said,  the  great  topic  of  philo 
sophical  speculation,  and  although  the  examination  of  Kant 
differed  somewhat  from  every  other  in  result,  it  in  nowise  differ 
ed  in  method.  Copernicus  positively  changed  the  point  of  view. 
Kant  did  nothing  of  the  kind  :  his  attempt  to  deduce  the  laws  of 
the  phenomenal  world  from  the  laws  of  mind,  was  little  more 
than  the  attempt  of  Descartes  to  deduce  the  world  from  Con 
sciousness  ;  it  is  the  same  as  the  attempts  of  Leibnitz  and  Berke 
ley  in  method  ;  and  the  result  is  very  much  the  result  obtained 
by  Hume,  namely,  that  we  can  know  nothing  but  our  own  ideas, 
we  can  never  know  things  per  se.  Kant,  after  analyzing  the 
operations  of  the  mind,  discovered  indeed  certain  principles  of 
certitude  ;  but  he  admitted  that  those  principles  could  not  be 
applied  to  things  beyond  the  Mind ;  and  that  all  within  the 
sphere  of  our  cognition  was  no  more  than  phenomena].  He  re- 

*  See  the  celebrated  second  Preface  to  the  JfrUik. 


639 

views  his  investigation,  and  then,  declaring  that  he  has  gone  the 
round  of  the  domain  of  human  Understanding  and  measured  it 
exactly,  he  is  still  forced  to  admit  that  that  domain  is  only  an 
island.  Nature  has  assigned  to  it  invariable  'limits.  It  is  the 
empire  of  Truth  ;  but  it  is  surrounded  by  a  stormy  and  illimita 
ble  sea,  upon  which  we  discover  nothing  but  illusions.  There, 
on  that  sea,  the  navigator,  deceived  by  masses  of  ice  which  ap 
pear  and  disappear  successively  before  him,  believing  that  at 
every  moment  he  is  about  to  discover  land,  wanders  without  re 
pose,  guided  only  by  one  hope  ;  he  is  the  plaything  of  the  stormy 
waves,  always  forming  new  plans,  always  preparing  himself  for 
new  experiences,  which  he  cannot  renounce,  and  yet  which  he 
can  never  obtain.* 

To  the  Skeptic  Kant  says,  "  No  :  experience  is  not  a  deceit ; 
human  Understanding  has  its  fixed  laws,  and  those  laws  are  true." 

To  the  Dogmatist  he  says,  "  But  this  Understanding  can  never 
know  Things  per  se.  It  is  occupied  solely  with  its  own  Ideas. 
It  perceives  only  the  Appearances  of  Things.  How  would  it  be 
possible  to  know  Noumena  ?  By  stripping  them  of  the  forms 
which  our  Sensibility  and  Understanding  have  impressed  upon 
them  (i.  e.  by  making  them  cease  to  be  Appearances).  But  to 
strip  them  of  these  forms,  we  must  annihilate  Consciousness — we 
must  substitute  for  our  Sensibility  and  Understanding,  a  faculty, 
or  faculties,  capable  of  perceiving  Things  per  se.  This,  it  is  obvi 
ous,  we  cannot  do.  Our  only  means  of  communication  with 
objects  are  precisely  this  Sensibility  and  this  Understanding, 
which  give  to  objects  the  forms  under  which  we  know  them." 

To  the  Dogmatist,  therefore,  Kant's  reply  is  virtually  the  same 
as  Hume's.  He  proves  that  the  Understanding,  from  the  very 
nature  of  its  constitution,,  cannot  know  Things  per  se.  The 
question  then  arises,  Have  we  any  other  Faculty  capable  of 
knowing  Things  per  se  ?  The  answer  is  decisive,  We  have  no 
such  Faculty. 

*  Kritik,  b.  i.  cap.  iii. 


640  KANT. 

The  difference  between  Hume  and  Kant,  when  deeply  consid 
ered,  is  this :  Hume  said  that  the  Understanding  was  treach 
erous,  and,  as  such,  it  rendered  Philosophy  impossible.  Kant 
said  that  the  Understanding  was  not  treacherous,  but  limited ; 
it  was  to  be  trusted  as  far  as  it  went,  but  it  could  not  go  far 
enough ;  it  was  so  circumscribed,  that  Philosophy  was  impos 
sible. 

This  difference,  slight  as  it  may  appear,  led  to  important  dif 
ferences  in  the  application  of  Kant's  principles.  The  mendacity 
of  Consciousness  maintained  by  Hume,  led  him  to  utter  Skep 
ticism  in  Philosophy  and  in  Religion,  as  subjects  on  which  reason 
could  not  pronounce.  The  veracity  of  Consciousness  (as  far  as 
it  went)  maintained  by  Kant,  was  a  firm  and  certain  basis,  though 
a  limited  one,  on  which  to  build  Religion  and  Morals,  as  we  shall 
see  hereafter.  Kant's  critics  do  not  in  general  appear  to  be  aware 
of  the  consequences  resulting  from  his  exposition  of  the  veracity 
of  the  Understanding.  Yet,  as  the  battle  was  confessedly  between 
him  and  Hume,  it  might  have  been  suspected  that  he  would  not 
have  left  the  field  entirely  to  his  antagonist. 

The  reader  is,  we  trust,  now  prepared  to  follow  with  interest 
the  leading  points  of  Kant's  analysis  of  the  mind.  In  giving  an 
indication  of  the  result  of  that  analysis,  before  giving  the  anal 
ysis  itself,  we  hope  to  have  so  far  interested  the  reader,  that  he 
will  read  the  analysis  with  sharpened  attention  ;  seeing  whither 
dry  details  are  leading,  he  will  not  deem  them  dry. 

And  first  of  the  famous  question  :  How  are  synthetic  judg 
ments,  a  priori,  possible  ?  This  is  the  nut  Kant  has  to  crack  with 
Hume.  But  first  let  us  understand  Kant's  language.  He  divides 
all  our  judgments  into  two  classes,  analytic  and  synthetic.  The 
analytic  judgment  is,  as  it  were,  but  a  writing  out  of  our  expe 
rience.  When  we  say  that  a  triangle  is  a  figure  with  three  sides, 
or  that  a  body  is  extended,  we  are  judging  analytically  ;  i.  e.  we 
are  adding  nothing  to  our  conception  of  body  or  triangle,  we  are 
only  analyzing  it.  The  synthetic  judgment,  on  the  contrary,  is 
when  we  predicate  some  attribute  of  a  thing,  the  conception  oi 


KANTS  HISTORICAL  POSITION. 

which  does  not  involve  that  attribute :  such  as  that  a  straight 
line  is  the  shortest  road  between  two  points. 

There  are  two  classes  of  synthetic  judgments :  those  a  pos 
teriori  and  those  a  priori.  The  former  result  from  experience  : 
e.  g.  gold  is  ductile.  We  must  absolutely  know  that  gold  is 
ductile,  before  we  can  predicate  ductility  ^f  gold.  But  the 
a  priori  judgments  are  independent  of  experience  :  e.  g.  a  straight 
line  is  the  shortest  road  between  two  points ;  which  experience 
may  confirm,  but  which  is  recognized  as  true,  independent  of 
experience ;  above  all,  it  has  a  character  of  universality  which 
experience  could  not- bestow;  for  though  experience  may  show 
us  how  a  straight  line  is,  in  many  instances,  the  shortest  road 
between  two  points,  it  cannot  prove  that  there  is,  absolutely,  no 
shorter  road  in  any  case. 

Hume  declared  that  our  experience  of  Cause  and  Effect  was 
simply  an  experience  of  antecedence  and  sequence  ;  and  that  our 
attributing  a  cause  to  any  effect  was  a  mere  matter  of  habit. 

True,  replied  Kant,  in  the  fact  of  antecedence  and  sequence, 
causation  is  not  given ;  but  inasmuch  as  causation  is  irresistibly 
believed  in,  the  idea  must  have  some  source.  If  it  is  not  given 
in  the  things  observed,  then  must  we  seek  it  in  the  observer.  In 
this  fact  of  causation  what  have  we  ?  We  have  first  antecedence 
and  sequence  ;  we  have  next  an  attribute  of  causation  predicated 
of  them.  The  first  is  given  in  our  experience  ;  the  second  is 
not  given  in  our  experience,  but  is  independent  of  it.  This  sec 
ond  is  therefore  an  a  priori  synthetic  judgment.  "  It  must  either 
have  an  a  priori  basis  in  the  understanding,  or  be  rejected  as  a 
chimera.  For  it  demands  that  something,  A,  should  be  of  such 
a  nature  that  something  else,  B,  should  follow  from  it  necessarily, 
and  according  to  an  absolutely  universal  law.  We  may  certainly 
collect  from  phenomena  a  law,  according  to  wm'ch  this  or  that 
usually  happens,  but  the  element  of  necessity  is  not  to  be  found 
in  it.  Hence  it  is  evident,  that  to  the  synthesis  of  cause  and 
effect  belongs  a  dignity  which  is  utterly  wanting  in  any  empir 
ical  synthesis  *,  for  it  is  no  mere  mechanical  synthesis,  by  means 


642  KANT. 

of  addition,  but  a  dynamical  one ;  that  is  to  say,  the  effect  is  not 
to  be  cogitated  as  merely  annexed  to  the  cause,  but  as  posited  by 
and  through  the  cause,  and  resulting  from  it."*  This,  therefore, 
is  an  a  priori  judgment.  By  means  of  such  judgments  we  are 
not  only  able  to  say  that  one  thing  is  the  cause  of  another,  but 
also  we  are  enabled  to  make  this  wide  generalization :  Every  ef 
fect  must  have  a  cause.  Here,  as  in  the  proposition  of  a  straight 
line  being  the  shortest  road  between  two  points,  we  have  an  idea 
not  given  in  experience,  and  an  idea,  the  universality  of  which, 
experience  could  never  verify. 

We  are  thus  led  to  assert  that  the  Mind  does  add  something 
to  sense-experience ;  and  that  what  it  adds  is  not  only  inde 
pendent  of  experience,  but  has  the  further  character  of  certi- 
titude  and  universality,  which  experience  can  never  claim.  The 
certainty  of  experience  is  always  limited ;  it  never  can  have 
the  character  of  universality,  however  rich  it  may  be ;  for  after 
a  thousand  years  it  may  be  proved  erroneous.  Thus,  it  was  uni 
versally  believed  that  all  crows  were  black :  a  wide  experience 
had  established  it — yet  white  crows  were  found ;  and  experience 
was  forced  to  acknowledge  it  had  been  in  error.  So  with  the 
motion  of  the  sun,  once  universally  believed,  because  founded 
upon  experience.  That  which  is  to  be  held  as  irresistibly  true, 
which  shall  be  universally  and  necessarily  maintained  by  all 
men,  cannot  have  its  origin  in  Experience,  but  in  the  constitution 
of  the  Mind.  Hence  the  truth  of  Mathematics ;  not,  as  is  so  often 
said,  because  it  is  an  abstraction  of  Forms  and  Relations,  but 
because  it  is  founded  on  the  necessary  laws  of  our  mental  con 
stitution. 

In  these  synthetic  judgments,  a  priori,  there  is  a  ground  of 
Certitude.  The  veracity  of  human  reason  reposes  on  that  Cer 
titude.  Although  therefore,  says  Kant,  we  can  never  know 
whether  our  conceptions  of  things,  per  sc,  are  adequate,  we  can 
know  what  conceptions  all  men  must  form  of  them ;  although 

*  Kritik,  b.  i  c.  ii.  §  9  (Transl.,  p.  76). 


643 

we  cannot  know  if  our  knowledge  has  any  objective  truth,  we 
can  be  certain  of  its  subjective  truth. 

A  principle  of  Certitude  having  been  found,  nothing  further 
was  necessary  for  its  confirmation  than  to  ascertain  in  how  far 
this  principle  could  be  the  basis  of  a  science.  Kant  showed 
that  it  formed  the  basis  of  all  science.  People  do  not  dispute, 
said  he,  respecting  Mathematics  or  Logic,  or  the  higher  branches 
of  Physics ;  and  if  they  do  dispute,  they  end  by  agreeing.  But 
in  Metaphysics,  disputes  are  endless.  Why  is  this  ?  Simply 
because  Logic,  Mathematics,  and  the  higher  branches  of  Physics 
are  Sciences  of  Generalities;  they  do  not  occupy  themselves 
with  variable  and  contingent,  but  with  the  invariable  and  uni 
versal  properties.  Logic  is  composed  of  rules  which  are  reduci 
ble  to  certain  self-evident  propositions.  These  propositions,  re 
duced  to  their  principles,  are  nothing  more  than  the  laws  of  the 
human  mind.  These  laws  are  invariable  because  human  nature 
is  invariable.  Mathematics  is,  in  the  same  way,  the  study  of 
certain  invariable  properties,  which  do  not  exist  in  nature,  but 
which  are  conceptions  of  the  mind,  upon  data  furnished  by  na 
ture,  abstraction  being  made  of  all  that  is  variable  and  uncertain 
in  those  data :  e.  g.  the  essential  properties  of  an  equilateral  tri 
angle,  abstraction  being  made  of  any  body  which  is  triangular, 
and  only  the  properties  themselves  being  considered. 

In  physics,  since  the  time  of  Galileo,  men  have  seen  that  they 
are  judges,  not  the  passive  disciples,  of  nature.  They  propose  an 
a  priori  problem ;  and,  to  solve  this  problem,  they  investigate 
nature,  they  make  experiments,  and  these  experiments  are  di 
rected  by  reason.  It  is  reason  that  they  follow,  even  when  oper 
ating  on  nature;  it  is  the  principle  of  that  reason  which  they 
seek  in  nature,  and  it  is  only  in  becoming  rational  that  physics 
become  a  science.  Again  we  find  science  reposing  on  the  laws 
of  the  mind ! 

Thus,  the  laws  which  form  the  basis  of  logic,  mathematics, 
and  physics,  are  nothing  less  than  the  laws  of  the  human  mind. 
It  is,  therefore,  in  the  nature  of  the  human  mind  that  the  certi- 


644  KANT. 

tude  of  all  the  sciences  is  to  be  found ;  and  the  principles  of 
this  certitude  are  universality  and  necessity. 

Psychology  thus  becomes  the  groundwork  of  all  Philosophy ; 
to  Kant's  Psychology  we  now  address  ourselves. 

§  III.     KANT'S  PSYCHOLOGY. 

It  has  been  shown  that  experience  does  not  furnish  the  whole 
of  our  knowledge ; 

That  what  it  does  furnish  has  the  character  of  contingency 
and  variability ; 

That  the  mind  also  furnishes  an  element,  which  element  is  an 
inseparable  condition  of  all  knowledge;  without  it  knowledge 
could  not  be ; 

That  this  element  has  the  character  of  universality  and  necessity. 

And  that  the  principle  of  all  certitude  is  precisely  this  univer 
sality  and  necessity. 

It  now  remains  for  us  to  examine  the  nature  of  the  mind,  and 
to  trace  the  distinctive  characters  of  each  element  of  knowledge, 
the  objective  and  the  subjective.  Instead  of  saying,  with  the 
Sensational  School,  All  our  knowledge  is  derived  from  the  senses, 
Kant  said,  Half  of  all  our  knowledge  is  derived  from  the  senses : 
and  the  half  which  has  another  origin,  is  indissolubly  bound  up 
with  the  former  lialf.  Thus,  instead  of  saying  with  the  Carte 
sians,  that,  besides  the  ideas  acquired  through  the  sense,  we  have 
also  certain  ideas  which  are  innate,  and  irrespective  of  sense ; 
Kant  said  all  our  ideas  have  a  double  origin,  and  this  twofold 
co-operation  of  object  and  subject  is  indispensable  to  all  knowl 
edge. 

Let  us  clearly  understand  Kant's  object.  He  calls  his  great 
work  the  Critique  of  the  Pure  Reason.  It  is  an  examination  of 
the  mind,  with  a  view  to  detect  itsjz  jon'ori. principles.  •  He  calls 
these  pure  because  they  are  a  priori,  because  they  are  above  and 
beyond  experience.  Having  demonstrated  that  the  mind  has 
some  pure  principles — has  some  ideas  which  were  never  given  in 
experience,  and  must  therefore  be  h  priori — he  was  led  to  inquire 


645 

how  many  the  mind  possessed.  In  his  Critique  therefore  we 
are  only  to  look  for  the  exposition  of  a  priori  principles.  He 
does  not  trouble  himself  with  investigating  the  nature  of  percep 
tion  ;  he  contents  himself  with  the  fact  that  we  have  sensations, 
and  with  the  fact  that  we  have  ideas  whose  origin  is  not  sensuous. 

The  Non-ego  and  the  Ego,  the  objective  world  and  the  sub 
jective  mind,  being  placed  face  to  face,  the  two  co-operate  to. 
produce  knowledge.  We  are  however  here  only  concerned  with 
the  subject.  What  do  we  discover  in  it?  First,  a  Sensibility — 
a  power  of  being  affected  by  objects ;  this  is  what  Kant  calls 
the  Receptivity  of  the  mind :  it  is  entirely  passive.  By  it  the 
representations  of  objects  (i.  e.  sensations)  are  received.  Second 
ly,  an  understanding (Verstand^—a.  faculty  of  knowing  objects 
by  means  of  the  representations  furnished  by  our  Sensibility : 
this  is  an  active  faculty ;  in  antithesis  to  Sensibility,  it  is  a 
Spontaneity. 

But  our  Sensibility,  although  passive,  has  its  laws  or  con 
ditions  ;  and,  to  discover  these  conditions,  we  must  separate  that 
which  is  diverse  and  multiple  in  our  sensations  from  that  which 
remains  invariably  the  same.  The  objects  are  numerous  and 
various ;  the  subject  remains  invariable.  Kant  calls  the  multi 
ple  and  diverse  element  by  the  name  of  material ;  the  invariable 
element  by  the  name  of  form.  If  therefore  we  would  discover 
the  primary  conditions  of  our  Sensibility,  we  must  discover  the 
invariable  elements  in  all  sensations. 

There  are  two  invariable  elements — Space  and  Time.  They 
are  the  forms  of  our  Sensibility.  Space  is  the  form  of  our  Sen 
sibility,  as  external;  Time  the  form  both  as  internal  and  ex 
ternal. 

Analyze  sensations  of  external  things  as  you  will,  you  can 
never  divest  them  of  the  form  of  Space.  You  cannot  conceive 
bodies  without  Space;  but  you  can  conceive  Space  without 
bodies.  If  all  matter  were  annihilated,  you  must  still  conceive 
Space  to  exist.  Space  therefore  is  the  indispensable  condition 
of  sensation :  the  form  of  external  Sensibility.  It  is  not  given 


646  KANT. 

in  the  materials  of  sensation  ;  since  you  may  conceive  the  objects 
annihilated,  but  cannot  conceive  the  annihilation  of  Space.  Not 
being  given  in  the  material,  it  must  therefore  constitute  the  form. 

Similar  reasoning  proves  that  Time  is  also  the  form  of  our 
Sensibility,  considered  both  as  internal  and  as  external.  We 
cannot  conceive  things  as  existing,  except  as  existing  in  Time ; 
but  we  can  conceive  Time  as  existing,  though  all  things  were 
annihilated.  Things  subjected  to  our  Sensibility  are  subjected 
to  it  in  succession  ;  that  is  the  form  of  our  Sensibility. 

Such  then  are  the  two  indispensable  conditions  of  all  sensa 
tion — the  two  forms  with  which  we  invest  all  the  varied  mate 
rials  presented  to  us.  It  is  evident  that  these  two  ideas  of  Space 
and  Time_cannot  have  been  given  in  the  materials,  consequently 
are  not  deducible  from  experience ;  ergo,  they  are  a  priori,  or, 
as  Kant  calls  them,  pure  intuitions. 

Having  settled  this  point,  he  enters  into  his  celebrated  ex 
amination  of  the  question,  Have  Space  and  Time  any  objective 
reality  ? 

We  need  not  reproduce  his  arguments,  which  however  may 
be  studied  as  fine  dialectical  exercises,  but  content  ourselves  \vith 
giving  the  result.  That  result  is  easily  foreseen  :  If  Space  and 
Time  are  the  forms  of  our  Sensibility,  and  are  not  given  in  ex 
perience,  not  given  in  the  materials  presented,  we  may  at  once 
assume  that  they  have  no  existence  out  of  our  Sensibility.  Kant's 
reduction  of  Space  and  Time  to  formal  elements  of  thought 
without  corresponding  objective  reality,  has  been  refuted  by 
Herbert  Spencer,*  who  has  shown  that  the  experience-hypothe 
sis  better  explains  the  genesis  of  these  conceptions.  I  must  not 
venture  to  interrupt  the  exposition  of  Kant  by  any  quotations, 
but  will  add  my  own  conviction  that  Space  and  Time  are 
objective  realities  in  the  sense  that  solidity,  color,  etc.,  are 
objective  realities ;  in  other  words,  although,  as  we  conceive 
them,  they  are  purely  subjective,  and  do  not  exis't  externally  a,s 


Principles  of  Psychology,  pp.  52-58. 


647 

the  Space  and  Time  which  exist  in  us,  nevertheless  some  external 
reality  there  is,  corresponding  to  our  subjective  state ;  precisely 
as  there  must  be  some  corresponding  objects  of  solidity,  color, 
etc.,  otherwise  the  conceptions  of  solidity,  color,  etc.,  would 
never  have  been  formed. 

Returning  now  to  the  exposition,  we  must  follow  Kant's 
analysis  of  the  forms  of  the  Understanding.  The  forms  of  Sensi 
bility  being  those  of  Space  and  Time,  we  must  pass  onwards  to 
the  higher  operations  of  the  mind.  The  function  of  the  Under 
standing  is  to  judge.  It  is  eminently  an  active  faculty ;  and  by 
it  the  perceptions  furnished  through  our  Sensibility  are  elevated 
into  conceptions  (Begriffe}.  If  we  had  only  Sensibility,  we 
should  have  sensations,  but  no  knowledge.  -  It  is  to  the  Under 
standing  that  we  are  indebted  for  knowledge.  And  how  are  we 
indebted  to  it  ?  Thus  : — the  variety  of  our  sensations  is  reduced 
to  unity — they  are  linked  together  and  made  to  interpret  each 
other  by  the  understanding.  A  sensation  in  itself  can  be  noth 
ing  but  a  sensation  :  many  sensations  can  be  nothing  but  many 
sensations,  they  can  never  alone  constitute  conceptions.  But 
one  sensation  linked  to  another  by  some  connecting  faculty — the 
diversity  of  many  sensations  reduced  to  unity — the  resemblances, 
existing  amidst  the  diversity,  detected  and  united  together — is 
the  process  of  forming  a  conception,  and  this  is  the  process  of 
the  Understanding,  by  means  of  imagination,  memory,  and  con 
sciousness. 

Our  senses,  in  contact  with  the  external  world,  are  affected  by 
objects  in  a  certain  determinate  manner.  The  result  Kant  calls 
a  representation  ( Vorstellung]  in  reference  to  the  object  repre 
sented  ;  an  intuition  (Anschauung]  in  reference  to  the  affection 
itself.  These  intuitions  are  moulded  by  the  Understanding  into 
conceptions ;  the  sensation  is  converted  into  a  thought. 

The  Understanding  is  related  to  Sensibility  in  the  same  way 
as  Sensibility  is  related  to  external  things.  It  imposes  certain 
forms  on  the  materials  furnished  it  by  Sensibility,  in  the  same 
way  as  Sensibility  imposed  the  forms  of  space  and  time  upon 


64:8  KANT. 

objects  presented  to  it.  These  forms  of  the  Understanding  are 
the  laws  of  its  operation. 

To  discover  these  forms  we  must  ask  ourselves,  What  is  the 
function  of  the  Understanding  ? — Judgment.  How  many  classes 
of  judgments  are  there  ?  In  other  words,  What  are  the  invari 
able  conditions  of  every  possible  judgment? — They  are  four: 
quantity,  quality,  relation,  modality.  Under  one  of  these  heads, 
every  judgment  may  be  classed. 

A  subdivision  of  each  of  these  classes  follows : — 1.  In  judging 
of  any  thing  under  the  form  of  quantity,  we  judge  of  it  as  unity 
or  as  plurality;  or,  uniting  these  two,  we  judge  of  it  as  totality. 
2.  So  of  quality :  it  may  be  reality,  negation,  or  limitation.  3. 
Relation  may  be  that  of  substance  and  accident,  cause  and  effect, 
or  action  and  reaction.  4.  Modality  may  be  that  of  possibility, 
existence,  or  necessity. 

Such  are  Kant's  famous  Categories.  They  are  little  better 
than  those  of  Aristotle,  which  we  before  declared  to  be  useless. 
For  although  the  object  of  Kant  was  different  from  that  of  Aris 
totle,  as  Sir  W.  Hamilton  points  out  ;*  the  result  was  nothing 
but  a  cumbrous  machinery  incompetent  to  aid  our  investigations, 
although  very  seductive  to  the  lovers  of  verbal  distinctions. 

In  those  Categories  Kant  finds  the  pure  forms  of  the  Under 
standing.  They  render  thought  possible  ;  they  are  the  invaria 
ble  conditions  of  all  conception;  they  are  the  investitures  bestow 
ed  by  the  understanding  on  the  materials  furnished  by  sense. 

By  the  Categories,  he  declares  he  has  answered  the  second 
half  of  the  question,  How  are  synthetic  judgments,  a  priori,  pos 
sible?  The  synthetic  judgments  of  the  Categories  are  all  a 
priori.  But  we  have  not  yet  exhausted  the  faculties  of  the 
mind.  Sensibility  has  given  us  intuitions  (perceptions),  Un 
derstanding  has  given  us  conceptions,  but  there  is  still  another 
faculty — the  crowning  faculty  of  Reason  (  Vernunft),  the  pure 
forms  of  which  we  have  to  seek. 

*  Discussions,  p.  25. 


649 

Understanding  is  defined,  the  faculty  of  judging  (  Vermogen 
der  Urtheile) ;  Reason  is  the  faculty  of  ratiocination — of  draw 
ing  conclusions  from  given  premises  ( Vermogen  der  Schlvsse). 
Reason  reduces  the  variety  of  conceptions  to  their  utmost  unity. 
It  proceeds  from  generality  to  generality  till  it  reaches  the 
unconditional.  Every  conception  must  be  reduced  to  some 
general  idea,  that  idea  again  reduced  to  some  still  more  general 
idea,  and  so  on  till  we  arrive  at  an  ultimate  and  unconditional 
principle,  such  as  God. 

Reason  not  only  reduces  particulars  to  a  general,  it  also  de 
duces  the  particular  from  the  general :  thus,  when  I  say,  "  Peter 
is  mortal,"  I  deduce  this  particular  proposition  from  the  general 
proposition,  "  All  men  are  mortal ;"  and  this  deduction  is  evi 
dently  independent  of  experience,  since  Peter  being  now  alive,  I 
can  have  no  experience  to  the  contrary.  These  two  processes 
of  reducing  a  particular  to  some  general,  and  of  deducing  some 
particular  from  a  general,  constitute  ratiocination. 

Reason  has  three  pure  forms ;  or,  as  Kant  calls  them,  borrow 
ing  the  term  from  Plato,  ideas.  These  are  wholly  independent 
of  experience ;  they  are  above  Sensibility — above  the  Under 
standing  ;  their  domain  is  Reason,  their  function  that  of  giving 
unity  and  coherence  to  our  conceptions. 

The  Understanding  can  form  certain  general  conceptions, 
such  as  man,  animal,  tree ;  but  these  general  conceptions  them 
selves  are  subordinate  to  a  still  more  general  idea,  embracing  all 
these  general  conceptions,  in  the  same  way  as  the  conception  of 
man  embraces  several  particulars  of  bone,  blood,  muscle,  etc. 
The  idea  is  that  of  the  universe. 

In  the  same  way  all  the  modifications  of  the  thinking  being — 
all  the  sensations,  thoughts,  and  passions — require  to  be  em 
braced  in  some  general  idea,  as  the  ultimate  ground  and  possi 
bility  for  these  modifications,  as  the  noumenon  of  these  phe 
nomena.  This  idea  is  that  of  an  ego — of  a  personality — of  a 
soul,  in  short. 

Having  thus  reduced  all  the  varieties  of  the  ego  to  an  uncon- 

28 


650  KANT. 

ditional  unity,  viz.,  soul,  and  having  also  reduced  all  the  varieties 
of  the  non-ego  to  an  unconditional  unity,  viz.,  the  world,  his  task 
would  seem  completed  ;  yet,  on  looking  deeper,  he  finds  that 
these  two  ideas  presuppose  a  third — a  unity  still  higher,  the 
source  of  both  the  world  and  of  the  ego — viz.,  God. 

God,  the  soul,  and  the  world,  are  therefore  the  three  ideas  of 
reason,  the  laws  of  its  operation,  the  pure  forms  of  its  existence. 
They  are  to  it  what  Space  and  Time  are  to  Sensibility,  and  what 
the  categories  are  to  Understanding. 

But  these  ideas  are  simply  regulative :  they  operate  on  con 
ceptions  as  the  Understanding  operates  upon  sensations ;  they 
are  discursive,  not  intuitive ;  they  are  never  face  to  face  with 
their  objects :  hence  Reason  is  powerless  when  employed  on 
matters  beyond  the  sphere  of  Understanding  ;  it  can  draw  noth 
ing  but  false,  deceptive  conclusions.  If  it  attempts  to  operate 
beyond  its  sphere — if  it  attempts  to  solve  the  question  raised  re 
specting  God  and  the  world — it  falls  into  endless  contradictions. 

"  While  we  regard  as  conclusive  Kant's  analysis  of  Time  and 
Space  into  conditions  of  thought,"  says  Sir  W.  Hamilton,  "  we 
cannot  help  viewing  his  deduction  of  the  Categories  of  the  Un 
derstanding  and  the  Ideas  of  speculative  Reason  as  the  work  of 
a  great  but  perverse  ingenuity  ;"  and  we,  who  do  not  even  regard 
the  analysis  of  Space  and  Time  as  conclusive,  may  echo  this 
judgment  with  greater  emphasis. 

§  IV.  CONSEQUENCES  OF  KANT'S  PSYCHOLOGY. 

We  have  given  briefly  the  leading  points  in  Kant's  analysis 
of  the  mind.  We  have  now  to  trace  the  consequences  of  that 
analysis. 

The  o^reat  question  at  issue  was :  Have  we,  or  have  we  not,  any 
ideas  which  are  absolutely,  objectively  true  ?  Before  this  could 
be  answered,  it  was  necessary  to  answer  this  other  question : 
Have  we,  or  have  we  not,  any  ideas  independent  of  experience  ? 
Because  if  we  have  not  such  ideas,  we  can  never  pretend  to 
solve  the  first  question  :  our  experience  can  only  be  of  that 


CONSEQUENCES  OF  KANT's  PSYCHOLOGY.       651 

which  is  relative,  contingent,  subjective  ;  and  to  solve  the  ques 
tion,  \ve  must  be  in  possession  of  absolute,  necessary,  objective 
truth. 

Kant  answered  the  second  question  affirmatively.  His  Critique 
was  a  laborious  demonstration  of  the  existence  of  ideas  not  de 
rived  from  experience,  and  in  no  way  resolvable  into  experience. 
But  he  answered  the  first  question  negatively.  He  declared  that 
our  ideas  are  essentially  subjective,  and  cannot  therefore  have 
objective  truth.  He  did  not  deny  the  existence  of  an  external 
world ;  on  the  contrary,  he  affirmed  it,  but  he  denied  that  we 
can  know  it :  he  affirmed  that  it  was  essentially  unknowable. 

The  world  exists, — that  is  to  say,  the  noumena  of  the  various 
phenomena  which  we  perceive,  exist.  The  world  is  not  known 
to  us  as  it  is  per  se,  but  as  it  is  to  us — as  it  is  in  our  knowledge 
of  it.  It  appears  to  us ;  only  the  appearance  therefore  can  be 
known;  the  world  must  ever  remain  unknown,  because,  before 
being  known,  it  must  appear  to  us,  i.  e.  come  under  the  condi 
tions  of  our  Sensibility,  and  be  invested  with  the  forms  of  Space 
and  Time,  and  come  under  the  conditions  of  our  Understanding, 
and  be  invested  with  the  categorical  forms. 

Suppose  object  and  subject  face  to  face.  Before  the  subject 
can  be  affected  by  the  object — that  is  to  say,  before  a  sensation 
is  possible — the  object  must  be  modified  in  the  sensation  by  the 
forms  of  our  Sensibility :  here  is  one  alteration.  Then  before 
sensation  can  become  thought,  it  must  be  subjected  to  the  cate 
gories  of  the  Understanding  :  here  is  another  alteration.* 

Now,  to  know  the  object  per  se — {.  e.  divested  of  the  modifi 
cations  it  undergoes  in  the  subject — is  obviously  impossible  ;  for 
it  is  the  subject  itself  which  knows,  and  the  subject  knows  only 
under  the  conditions  which  produce  these  modifications. 

Knowledge,  in  its  very  constitution,  implies  a  purely  subjec 
tive,  ergo,  relative  character.  To  attempt  to  transcend  the  sphere 


*  Compare  what  was  said  on  the  transformation  of  impressions  into  sensa 
tions,  pp.  611,  sq. 


652 


KANT. 


of  the  subjective  is  vain  and  hopeless ;  nor  is  it  wise  to  deplore 
that  we  are  "  cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confined"  within  that  sphere  from 
which  we  never  can  escape.  As  well  might  the  bird,  when  feel 
ing  the  resistance  of  the  air,  wish  that  it  were  in  vacuo,  thinking 
that  there  it  might  fly  with  perfect  ease.  Let  us  therefore  con 
tent  ourselves  with  our  own  kingdom,  instead  of  crossing  peril 
ous  seas  in  search  of  kingdoms  inaccessible  to  man.  Let  us 
learn  our  weakness.* 

FIRST  RESULT. — A  knowledge  of  things  per  se  (Dinge  an  sick) 
is  impossible,  so  long  as  knowledge  remains  composed  as  at 
present ;  consequently  Ontology,  as  a  science,  is  impossible. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  if  we  never  knew  noumena  (Dinge  an 
sick),  how  do  we  know  that  they  exist?  Their  existence  is  a 
necessary  postulate.  Although  we  can  only  know  the  appear 
ances  of  things,  we  are  forced  to  conclude  that  the  things  exist. 
Thus,  in  the  case  of  a  rainbow,  we  discover  that  it  is  only  the 
appearance  of  certain  drops  of  water :  these  drops  of  water  again, 
although  owing  their  shape,  color,  etc.,  to  us,  nevertheless  exist. 
They  do  not  exist  as  drops  of  water,  because  drops  of  water  are 
but  phenomena;  but  there  is  an  unknown  something  which, 
when  affecting  our  Sensibility,  appears  to  us  as  drops  of  water. 
Of  this  unknown  something  we  can  affirm  nothing,  except  that 
it  necessarily  exists  because  it  affects  us.  We  are  conscious  of 
being  affected.  We  are  conscious  also  that  that  which  affects  us 
must  be  something  different  from  ourselves.  This  the  law  of 
causation  reveals  to  us. 

A  phenomenon,  inasmuch  as  it  is  an  appearance,  presupposes 
a  noumenon — a  thing  ivhick  appears, — but  this  noumenon,  which 
is  a  necessary  postulate,  is  only  a  negation  to  us.  It  can  never 
be  positively  known;  it  can  only  be  known  under  the  conditions 
of  sense  and  understanding,  ergo,  as  a  phenomenon. 

SECOND  RESULT. — The  existence  of  an  external  world  is  a 
necessary  postulate,  but  its  existence  is  only  logically  affirmed. 

*  Compare  Kant's  fine  passage  at  the  close  of  the  Einleitung. 


CONSEQUENCES    OF    KANT's    PHILOSOPHY.  653 

From  the  foregoing  it  appears  that  we  are  unable  to  know  any 
thing  respecting  things  per  se ;  consequently  we  can  never 
predicate  of  our  knowledge  that  it  has  objective  truth. 

But  our  knowledge  being  purely  subjective  and  relative,  can 
we  have  no  certainty  ? — are  we  to  embrace  skepticism  ?  No. 

THIRD  RESULT. — Our  knowledge,  though  relative,  is  certain. 
We  have  ideas  independent  of  experience;  and  these  ideas  have 
the  character  of  universality  and  necessity.  Although  we  are 
not  entitled  to  conclude  that  our  subjective  knowledge  is  com 
pletely  true  as  an  expression  of  the  objective  fact,  yet  we  are 
forced  to  conclude  that  within  its  own  sphere  it  is  true. 

FOURTH  RESULT. — The  veracity  of  consciousness  is  established. 

FIFTH  RESULT. — With  the  veracity  of  consciousness,  is  estab 
lished  the  certainty  of  morals. 

It  is  here  we  see  the  importance  of  Kant's  analysis  of  the 
mind.  Those  who  reproach  him  with  having  ended,  like  Hume, 
in  skepticism,  can  only  have  attended  to  his  Critique  of  the  Pure 
Reason,  which  certainly  does,  as  we  said  before,  furnish  a  scien 
tific  basis  for  skepticism.  It  proves  that  our  knowledge  is  rela 
tive  ;  that  we  cannot  assume  things  external  to  us  to  be  as  we 
conceive  them :  in  a  \vord,  that  Ontology  is  impossible. 

So  far  Kant  goes  with  Hume.  This  is  the  goal  they  both  at 
tain.  This  is  the  limit  they  agree  to  set  to  the  powers  of  the 
mind.  But  the  different  views  they  took  of  the  nature  of  mind 
led  to  the  difference  we  before  noted  respecting  the  certainty  of 
knowledge.  Kant  having  shown  that  consciousness,  as  far  as  it 
extended,  was  veracious ;  and  having  shown  that  in  conscious 
ness  certain  elements  were  given  which  were  not  derived  from 
experience,  but  which  were  necessarily  true;  it  followed  that 
whatever  was  found  in  consciousness  independent  of  experience, 
was  to  be  trusted  without  dispute. 

If  in  consciousness  I  find  the  ideas  of  God,  the  world,  and 
virtue,  I  cannot  escape  believing  in  God,  the  world,  and  virtue. 
This  belief  of  mine  is,  I  admit,  practical,  not  theoretical ;  it  is 
founded  on  a  certainty,  not  on  a  demonstration  ;  it  is  an  ultimate 


654  KANT. 

fact,  from  which  I  cannot  escape — it  is  not  a  conclusion  deduce^ 
by  reason. 

The  attempt  to  demonstrate  the  existence  of  God  is  an  impos 
sible  attempt.  Reason  is  utterly  incompetent  to  the  task.  The 
attempt  to  penetrate  the  essence  of  things — to  know  things  per 
se — to  know  noumena — is  also  an  impossible  attempt.  And 
yet  that  God  exists,  that  the  world  exists,  are  irresistible  con 
victions. 

There  is  another  certitude,  therefore,  besides  that  derived  from 
demonstration,  and  this  is  moral  certitude,  which  is  grounded 
upon  belief.  I  cannot  say,  "  It  is  morally  certain  that  God  ex 
ists,"  but  I  must  say,  "  I  am  morally  certain  that  God  exists." 

Here  then  is  the  basis  for  a  Critique  of  the  Practical  Reason, 
an  investigation  into  the  Reason,  no  longer  as  purely  theoretical, 
but  as  practical.  Man  is  a  being  who  acts  as  well  as  knows. 
This  activity  must  have  some  principle,  and  that  principle  is 
freedom  of  will. 

As  in  the  theoretical  part  of  Kant's  system  we  saw  the  super- 
sensual  and  unconditioned  presupposed  as  existent  (under  the 
name  of  things  per  se~),  but  not  susceptible  of  being  known  or 
specified;  so  in  this  practical  part  of  the  system  we  find  the 
principle  of  freedom  altogether  abstract  and  indeterminate.  It 
realizes  itself  in  acts. 

In  the  very  constitution  of  his  conscience,  man  discovers  the 
existence  of  certain  rules  which  he  is  imperatively  forced  to  im 
pose  upon  his  actions ;  in  the  same  way  as  he  is  forced  by  the 
constitution  of  his  reason  to  impose  certain  laws  upon  the  mate 
rials  furnished  him  from  without.  These  moral  laws  have  like 
wise  the  character  of  universality  and  necessity.  The  idea  of 
virtue  never  could  be  acquired  in  experience,  since  all  we  know 
of  virtuous  actions  falls  short  of  this  ideal  which  we  are  com 
pelled  to  uphold  as  a  type.  The  inalterable  idea  of  justice  is 
likewise  found,  a  priori,  in  the  conscience  of  men.  This,  indeed, 
has  been  denied  by  some  philosophers ;  but  all  a  priori  truths 
have  been  denied  by  them.  They  cite  the  cruel  customs  of  some 


655 

•savage  races  as  proofs  that  the  idea  of  justice  is  not  universal.* 
Thus,  some  tribes  are  known  to  kill  their  old  men  when  grown 
too  feeble  ;  and  they  test  their  strength  by  making  these  old  men 
hold  on  to  the  branch  of  a  tree,  which  is  violently  shaken,  and 
those  that  fall  are  pronounced  too  weak  to  live.  But  even  here, 
in  spite  of  the  atrocity,  we  see  the  fundamental  ideas  of  justice. 
Why  should  they  not  abandon  these  aged  men  to  all  the  horrors 
of  famine  and  disease  ?  and  why  put  them  to  a  test  ?  Look 
where  you  will,  the  varied  customs  of  the  various  nations  peo 
pling  the  earth  will  show  you  different  notions  of  what  is  just 
and  what  is  unjust ;  but  the  a  priori  idea  of  justice — the  moral 
law  from  which  no  conscience  can  be  free — that  you  will  find 
omnipresent. 

We  regret  that  our  space  will  not  permit  us  to  enter  further 
into  Kant's  system  of  morality,  and  his  noble  vindication  of  the 
great  idea  of  duty.  But  enough  has  been  said  to  show  the  de 
pendence  of  his  Critique  of  the  Practical  Reason  upon  the  prin 
ciples  of  his  Critique  of  the  Pure  Reason  ;  a  dependence  which 
some  hasty  critics  have  pronounced  an  unphilosophical  compro 
mise. 

§  V.  EXAMINATION  OF  KANT'S  FUNDAMENTAL  PRINCIPLES. 

Kant's  system  presents  three  important  points  for  our  consid 
eration  : 

1.  It  assigns  a  limit  to  the  powers  of  reason,  and  clearly  marks 
out  the  domain  of  scientific  inquiry.     In  this  it  is  skeptical,  and 
furnishes  skepticism  with  terrible  weapons. 

2.  It  proclaims  that  knowledge  has  another  origin  besides  ex 
perience  ;  and  that  the  ideas  thus  acquired  are  necessarily  true. 
In  this  the  veracity  of  consciousness  is  established,  and  skep 
ticism  is  defeated. 

3.  It  founds  upon  this  veracity  of  consciousness  a  system  of 
morals ;  the  belief  in  a  future  state,  and  in  the  existence  of  God. 

*  Kant  alludes  to  Locke. 


656  KANT. 

In  the  course  of  our  exposition  we  abstained  from  criticism  • 
certain  that  it  would  lead  us  far  beyond  our  limits  to  venture  on 
an  examination  of  any  but  the  fundamental  principles.  The 
three  points  above  mentioned  will,  if  closely  examined,  be  found 
to  present  only  one  calling  for  discussion  here,  and  that  one  is 
the  second. 

For  the  admission  contained  in  the  first — viz.  that  we  are  un 
able  to  know  things  in  themselves — gives  up  Philosophy  as  a 
matter  beyond  the  reach  of  human  intelligence.  Skepticism  is 
made  the  only  result  of  ontological  speculation.  But  we  are 
guarded  against  such  a  conclusion  entering  deeply  into  practical 
life,  by  the  demonstration  of  our  having  ideas  independent  of  ex 
perience.  This  is  the  second  point.  Were  this  second  point  to 
fall  to  the  ground,  nothing  but  skepticism  could  remain.  With 
the  second  point  must  stand  or  fall  the  third. 

The  second  point,  therefore,  becomes  the  central  and  vital 
point  of  Kant's  system,  and  must  engage  our  whole  attention. 
All  such  subsidiary  criticism  as  is  current  in  Germany  and 
France,  respecting  the  impossibility  of  separating  the  objective 
from  the  subjective  elements  of  a  knowledge  which  is  confessedly 
both  subject  and  object  in  one,  may  be  safely  set  aside.  Let  the 
possibility  be  granted ;  the  vital  question  is  not  connected  with 
it.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  illogicality  of  Kant's  assuming 
for  the  practical  reason  that  which  he  denies  to  the  pure  reason. 
The  vital  point  in  his  system  is,  we  repeat,  the  question  as  to 
whether  we  have  ideas  independent  of  experience.  This  is  all- 
important. 

And  what  gives  it  its  importance?  The  conviction,  that  if 
we  are  sent  into  this  world  with  certain  connate  principles  of 
truth,  those  principles  cannot  be  false ;  that  if,  for  example,  the 
principle  of  causality  is  one  which  is  antecedent  to  all  experience, 
and  is  inseparable  from  the  mind,  we  are  forced  to  pronounce  it 
an  ultimate  truth. 

Let  us  meditate  on  this  question.  As  Kant  confessedly  was 
led  to  his  own  system  by  the  speculations  of  Hume  on  causation, 


657 

and  as  that  is  the  most  important  of  all  the  a  priori  ideas  with 
which  the  mind  is  supposed  to  be  furnished,  we  will  content  our 
selves  with  examining  it.  If  that  be  found  dependent  on  expe 
rience,  all  the  a  priori  ideas  must  be  likewise  given  up.  This  is 
the  nut  we  have  to  crack ;  its  kernel  is  the  kernel  of  the  whole 
question.  Let  us  first  consider  these  Necessary  Truths,  as  Dr. 
Whewell  calls  a  priori  ideas. 

That  two  parallel  lines  can  never  meet,  is  a  Necessary  Truth. 
That  is  to  say,  it  necessarily  follows  from  the  definition  of  a 
straight  line.  To  call  it,  however,  an  a  priori  truth,  a  truth  in 
dependent  of  experience,  seems  to  us  a  very  imperfect  analysis 
of  the  mind's  operations.  An  attempt  is  made  to  prove  that  the 
idea  could  never  have  been  gained  through  experience,  because 
it  commands  universal  assent,  and  because  experience  itself  could 
never  give  it  necessity.  Dr.  Whewell's  argument  is,  that  let  us 
follow  two  parallel  lines  out  as  far  as  we  can,  we  are  still  unable 
to  follow  them  to  infinity :  and,  for  all  our  experience  can  tell 
us  to  the  contrary,  these  lines  may  possibly  begin  to  approach 
immediately  beyond  the  farthest  point  to  which  we  have  followed 
them,  and  so  finally  meet.  Now  what  ground  have  we  for  be 
lieving  that  this  possibility  is  not  the  fact  ?  In  other  words, 
how  do  we  know  the  axiom  to  be  absolutely  true  ?  Clearly  not 
from  experience,  says  Dr.  Whewell,  following  Kant. 

We  answer,  Yes  ;  clearly/rowi  experience.  For  our  experience 
of  two  parallel  lines  is  precisely  this  :  they  cannot  inclose  space. 
Dr.  Whewell  says  that,  for  all  our  experience  can  tell  us  to  the 
contrary,  the  lines  may  possibly  begin  to  approach  each  other  at 
some  distant  point ;  and  he  would  correct  this  imperfect  expe 
rience  by  a  priori  truth.  The  case  is  precisely  the  reverse.  The 
tendency  of  the  mind  unquestionably  is,  to  fancy  that  the  two 
lines  will  meet  at  some  point ;  it  is  experience  which  corrects  this 
tendency.  There  are  many  analogies  in  nature  to  suggest  the 
meeting  of  the  two  lines.  It  is  only  our  reflective  experience 
which  can  furnish  us  with  the  proof  which  Dr.  Whewell  refers 
to  ideas  independent  of  all  experience.  What  proof  have  we 

28° 


658  KANT. 

that  two  parallel  lines  cannot  inclose  space  ?  Why  this :  as 
soon  as  they  assume  the  property  of  inclosing  space,  they  lose  the 
property  of  parallelism — they  are  no  longer  straight  lines,  but  bent 
lines.  In  carrying  out  imaginatively  the  two  parallel  lines  into 
infinity,  we  have  a  tendency  to  make  them  approach ;  we  can 
only  correct  this  by  a  recurrence  to  our  experience  of  straight 
lines :  we  must  call  up  a  distinct  image  of  a  straight  line,  and 
then  we  see  that  two  such  lines  cannot  inclose  space. 

The  whole  difficulty  lies  in  the  clearness  or  obscurity  with 
which  the  mind  makes  present  to  itself  past  experience.  "  Re 
frain  from  rendering  your  terms  into  ideas,"  says  Herbert  Spen 
cer,  "and  you  may  reach  any  conclusion  whatever.  The  whole 
is  equal  to  its  part,  is  a  proposition  that  may  be  quite  comfort 
ably  entertained  so  long  as  neither  wholes  nor  parts  are  ima 
gined."*  But  no  sooner  do  we  make  present  to  our  minds  the 
meaning  of  parallel  lines,  than  in  that  very  act  we  make  present 
the  impossibility  of  their  meeting,  and  only  as  the  idea  of  these 
lines  becomes  wavering,  does  the  idea  of  their  meeting  become 
possible. 

"  Necessary  truths,"  says  Dr.  Whewell,  "  are  those  in  which 
we  not  only  learn  that  the  proposition  is  true,  but  see  that  it  must 
be  true ;  in  which  the  negation  is  not  only  false,  but  impossible ; 
in  which  we  cannot,  even  by  an  effort  of  the  imagination,  or  in 
a  supposition,  conceive  the  reverse  of  that  which  is  asserted. 
That  there  are  such  truths,  cannot  be  doubted.  We  may  take, 
for  example,  all  relations  of  Number.  Three  and  two  make  five. 
We  cannot  conceive  it  otherwise.  We  cannot  by  any  freak  of 
thought  imagine  that  three  and  two  make  seven." 

That  Dr.  Whewell  cannot  by  any  freak  of  thought  now  ima 
gine  three  and  two  to  make  seven,  is  very  likely ;  but  that  he 
could  never  imagine  this,  is  untrue.  If  he  had  been  asked  the 
question  before  he  had  learned  to  reckon,  he  would  have  ima 
gined  seven  quite  as  easily  as  five :  that  is  to  say,  he  would  not 


*  Principles  of  Psychology,  p.  49. 


KANTS    FUNDAMENTAL    PRINCIPLES.  659 

have  known  the  relation  of  three  and  two.  Children  have  no 
intuitions  of  numbers:  they  learn  them  as  they  learn  other 
things.  "  The  apples  and  the  marbles,"  says  Herschel,  "  are  put 
in  requisition,  and  through  the  multitude  of  gingerbread-nuts 
their  ideas  acquire  clearness,  precision,  and  generality."  But 
though,  from  its  simplicity,  the  calculation  of  three  added  to 
two,  is  with  a  grown  man  an  instantaneous  act;  yet  if  you  ask 
him  suddenly  how  many  are  twice  365,  he  cannot  answer  till  he 
has  reckoned.  He  might,  certainly,  by  a  very  easy  "  freak  of 
thought"  (i.  e.  by  an  erroneous  calculation),  imagine  the  sum- 
total  to  be  720 ;  and  although  when  he  repeats  his  calculation, 
he  may  discover  the  error,  and  declare  730  to  be  the  sum-total, 
and  say,  "It  is  a  Necessary  Truth  that  365  added  to  365  make 
730,"  we  should  not  in  the  least  dispute  the  necessity  of  the 
truth,  but  presume  that  he  himself  would  not  dispute  that  he 
had  arrived  at  it  through  experience,  namely,  through  his  knowl 
edge  of  the  relations  of  numbers,  a  knowledge  which  he  remem 
bers  to  have  laboriously  acquired  when  a  boy  at  school. 

The  foregoing  remarks  having,  we  trust,  established  that  the 
truths  of  Geometry  and  Arithmetic,  which  form  one  class  of  the 
so-called  Necessary  Truths,  are  not  obtained  a  priori,  independ 
ently  of  Experience,  we  pass  on  to  the  other  class,  which  we 
would  call  Truth  of  Generalization. 

Our  example  shall  be  that  chosen  by  Kant :  "  Every  effect 
must  have  a  cause."  This  is  not  a  mere  writing  out  of  our  con 
ceptions  :  it  is  not  a  mere  explanation,  in  different  terms,  of  what 
we  mean.  It  is  a  wide  generalization.  Experience  can  only  be 
experience  of  individual  causes  and  effects  ;  and  although  in  our 
conception  of  an  effect  the  conception  of  a  cause  is  certainly  in 
volved,  and  in  so  far  the  judgment  may  be  supposed  an  analytic 
judgment,  yet  if  we  look  closer,  the  ambiguity  will  disappear. 
The  word  effect  implies  as  a  correlative  the  word  cause.  But 
the  Thing  we  see  before  us  does  not  imply  the  existence  of  some 
other  Thing  which  caused  it ;  and  our  judgment  that  it  must 
have  had  an  antecedent  cause,  is  purely  synthetic. 


660  KANT. 

When  we  assert  that  every  effect  must  have  a  cause,  we  assert 
that  which  no  experience  can  have  warranted.  Is  the  idea  there 
fore  acquired  through  some  other  channel  ?  No  ;  and  the  up 
holders  of  the  doctrines  of  Innate  Ideas,  Fundamental  Laws  of 
Belief,  Categories  of  the  Understanding,  and  Necessary  Truths, 
appear  to  us  to  labor  under  a  confusion  of  thought  which  a  very 
little  well-directed  analysis  might  have  cleared  up.  The  con 
fusion  is  this  : — Our  experience  is  obviously  incapable  of  guaran 
teeing  the  truth  of  any  universal  and  necessary  idea.  But  to 
assume  therefore  that  the  idea  is  independent  of  experience,  is  to 
forget  that  what  experience  may  not  guarantee,  it  may  suggest; 
and  the  universality  and  necessity  of  our  ideas,  is  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  the  suggestions  of  the  understanding,  which  by  the 
law  of  its  operation  generalizes  from  particulars,  and  converts 
them  into  universals.  We  will  presently  explain  this  more  fully ; 
let  us  now  hear  Kant,  who  distinguishes  a  pure  cognition  from 
an  empirical  cognition  by  this  mark  of  necessity  and  universality. 
"  Experience  no  doubt  teaches  us  that  this  or  that  object  is  con 
stituted  in  such  and  such  a  manner,  but  not  that  it  could  not 
possibly  exist  otherwise."  ..."  Empirical  universality  is  only 
an  arbitrary  extension  of  the  validity  from  that  which  may  be 
predicated  of  a  proposition  valid  in  most  cases  to  that  which  is 
asserted  of  a  proposition  which  holds  good  in  all.  When,  on  the 
contrary,  strict  universality  characterizes  a  judgment,  it  necessa 
rily  indicates  another  peculiar  source  of  knowledge,  namely,  a 
faculty  of  cognition  a  priori.  Necessity  and  strict  universality, 
therefore,  are  infallible  tests  for  distinguishing  pure  from  empiri 
cal  knowledge,  and  are  inseparably  connected  with  each  other."* 
And  elsewhere  :  kt  If  we  thought  to  free  ourselves  from  the  labor 
of  these  investigations  by  saying,  '  Experience  is  constantly  offer 
ing  us  examples  of  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect  in  phenomena, 
and  presents  us  with  abundant  opportunity  of  abstracting  the 
conception  of  cause,  and  so  at  the  same  time  of  corroborating  the 

*  JEinleitungf  §  ii.  (Transl.  p.  8). 


661 

objective  validity  of  this  conception" — we  should  in  this  case  be 
overlooking  the  fact  that  the  conception  of  cause  cannot  arise  in 
this  way  at  all ;  that  on  the  contrary  it  must  either  have  a  basis 
in  the  Understanding,  or  be  rejected  as  a  mere  chimera.  For 
this  conception  demands  that  something  (A)  should  be  of  such  a 
nature  that  something  else  (B)  should  follow  from  it  necessarily, 
and  according  to  an  absolutely  universal  law.  We  may  certain 
ly  collect  from  phenomena  a  law,  according  to  which  this  or  that 
usually  happens,  but  the  element  of  necessity  is  not  to  be  found 
in  it.  Hence  it  is  evident  that  to  the  synthesis  of  cause  and 
effect  belongs  a  dignity  which  is  utterly  wanting  in  any  empiri 
cal  synthesis."* 

Referring  to  what  was  said  in  discussing  Hume's  theory  of 
causation,  we  may  pass  on  to  Dr.  Whewell's  re-statement  of 
Kant's  views : 

"  That  this  idea  of  cause  is  not  derived  from  experience,  we 
prove  (as  in  former  cases)  by  this  consideration  :  that  we  can 
make  assertions,  involving  this  idea,  which  are  rigorously  neces 
sary  and  universal ;  whereas  knowledge  derived  from  experience 
can  only  be  true  as  far  as  experience  goes,  and  can  never  contain 
in  itself  any  evidence  whatever  of  its  necessity.  We  assert  that 
"  every  Event  must  have  a  Cause  f  and  this  proposition  we 
know  to  be  true,  not  only  probably  and  generally  and  as  far  as 
we  can  see  ;  but  we  cannot  suppose  it  to  be  false  in  any  single 
instance.  We  are  as  certain  of  it  as  we  are  of  the  truths  of 
arithmetic  and  geometry.  We  cannot  doubt  that  it  must  apply 
to  all  events,  past,  present,  and  to  come,  in  every  part  of  the 
universe,  just  as  truly  as  to  those  occurrences  which  we  have 
ourselves  observed.  What  causes  produce  what  effects  ; — what 
is  the  cause  of  any  particular  event ;  what  will  be  the  effect  of 
any  peculiar  process  ;  these  are  points  on  which  experience 
may  enlighten  us.  But  that  every  event  must  have  some  cause, 
Experience  cannot  prove  any  more  than  she  can  disprove.  She 

*  Transcendental.  Logik,  §  9  (Transl.  p.  76). 


662 


KANT. 


can  add  nothing  to  the  evidence  of  the  truth,  however  often  she 
may  exemplify  it.  This  doctrine  then  cannot  have  been  acquired 
by  her  teaching  :  and  the  Idea  of  Cause  which  the  doctrine  in 
volves,  and  on  which  it  depends,  cannot  have  come  into  our 
minds  from  the  region  of  observation."* 

There  is  one  minor  point  in  this  argument  which  we  must  no 
tice  first.  Dr.  Whewell  says  that  the  proposition  "Every  event 
must  have  a  cause"  cannot  possibly  be  false  in  any  one  instance. 
We  think  there  is  one,  which  he  himself  would  admit ;  but  to 
make  it  clear,  we  must  substitute  an  equivalent  for  "  event." 
The  abstract  formula  of  causation  is  this  :  "  Every  existence  pre 
supposes  some  Cause  of  its  existence  :  ex  nihilo  nihil  fit?  And 
this  formula  is  employed  against  the  atheists,  to  prove  that  the 
world  could  not  have  made  itself  out  of  Nothing,  ergo  it  must 
have  had  a  Cause.  Now  the  obvious  answer  has  often  been 
given,  namely,  that  the  Cause  itself  must  have  had  a  Cause,  and 
so  on  ad  infinitum.  Nevertheless,  as  reason  repugns  such  an 
argument,  and  as  it  declares  that  somewhere  the  chain  of  causes 
and  effects  must  stop,  in  that  very  declaration  it  falsifies  the 
formula  of  causation — "  Every  existence  must  have  a  cause." 

Let  not  this  be  thought  quibbling ;  it  is  only  an  exposure  of 
the  weakness  of  the  theory  of  causation.  If  that  theory  be  cor 
rect — if  the  formula  is  a  necessary  Truth,  objectively  as  well  as 
subjectively,  the  argument  against  atheism  falls  to  the  ground. 
For,  would  the  atheist  argue,  this  is  the  dilemma  :  either  the 
chain  of  causes  and  effects  must  be  extended  to  infinity  ;  or  you 
must  stop  somewhere,  and  declare  that  the  ultimate  Existence 
has  no  cause.  In  the  first  case  you  fall  into  unlimited  skepti 
cism  ;  in  the  second  you  fall  into  atheism,  because  the  world  is 
an  Existence  of  which  we  are  assured :  why,  then,  is  not  it  the 
ultimate  Existence  ?  You  have  no  right  to  assume  any  prior 
cause  ;  if  you  must  stop  somewhere,  it  is  more  rational  to  stop 
there. 

*  Philos.  Ind.  etc.,  vol.  i.  p.  159. 


663 

This  dilemma  admits  of  but  one  escape-hole,  namely,  the  denial 
of  the  formula  "  Every  existence  presupposes  a  cause"  being  any 
thing  more  than  a  psychological  law.  Curiously  enough,  the 
only  loophole  is  in  the  doctrine  maintained  by  David  Hume — a 
doctrine  for  so  many  years  supposed  to  be  the  inlet  of  theologi 
cal  skepticism  ! 

Our  belief  in  the  formula  "  Every  event  must  have  a  cause"  is 
founded  entirely  on  experience  :  is,  indeed,  nothing  more  than 
our  experience  generalized. 

To  prove  this,  we  will  consider  a  single  case  of  causation.  A. 
child  burns  his  finger  in  the  candle  ;  he  then  believes  that  a 
candle  will  always  burn  his  fingers.  Now  we  are  asked  how  it 
is  that  the  child  is  led  to  believe  that  the  candle  will  always 
burn  his  finger ;  and  the  answer  usually  afforded  is,  that  "  he  is 
irresistibly  led  to  believe  in  the  uniformity  of  nature  ;"  in  other 
words,  the  idea  of  causality  is  &  fundamental  idea. 

We  answer,  The  child  believes  the  candle  will  burn,  because 
the  experience  he  has  of  a  candle  is  precisely  this  experience  of 
its  burning  properties.  Before  he  had  burnt  his  finger,  his  ex 
perience  of  a  candle  was  simply  of  a  bright  thing  which  set 
paper  alight.  Having  now  extended  his  experience,  the  candle  is 
to  him  a  bright  thing  which  sets  paper  alight,  and  which  causes 
pain  to  his  finger  when  placed  in  contact  with  it.* 

According  to  the  well-known  law  of  association,  the  flame  of  a 
candle,  and  pain  to  the  finger  applied  to  it,  are  united,  and  form 
one  experience.  This  particular  act  of  causation  is  therefore 
nothing  but  a  simple  experience  to  the  child  ;  and  for  the  per 
fection  of  this  experience  it  is  in  nowise  needful  to  assume  that 
the  child  has  any  belief  in  the  "  connection  of  events,"  or  in  the 
"  uniformity  of  the  laws  of  Nature."  No  fundamental  idea  is 
necessary  for  the  particular  belief.f  Is  it  then  necessary  for  the 


*  See  p.  486  sq.,  where  the  argument  is  stated  more  fully. 
t  This  is  denied   by  the  thinkers  whom  we  are  now  combating  :    they 
assume  that  the  fundamental  idea  is  necessary  ;  but  this  is  a  mere  assump- 


664:  KANT. 

belief  in  the  general  proposition — "  Every  effect  must  have  a 
cause  ?" 

When  Kant  and  the  Kantists  say  that  no  particular  act  of 
causation  can  be  inferred  a  priori  (such,  for  example,  as  that  fire 
will  melt  the  solid  wax)  ;  but  that  nevertheless  causality  itself 
can  be  inferred  a  priori,  i.  e.  we  are  constrained  to  believe  that 
something  will  follow  the  application  of  fire  to  the  wax,  and  this 
a  priori  judgment  is  independent  of  experience, — they  seem  to 
me  to  foil  into  the  error  of  confounding  the  general  with  the 
particular.  No  general  proposition  is  possible  except  as  an  ex 
pression  of  particular  propositions  ;  and  all  particular  proposi 
tions  are  the  expression  of  particular  experiences.  "  That  all 
lions  are  carnivorous"  is  only  intelligible  as  a  general  proposition 
after  one  or  more  lions  have  been  recognized  as  carnivorous ; 
that  "  every  effect  must  have  a  cause"  is  only  conceivable  after 
many  particular  experiences  of  causes  and  effects.  No  particular 
act  of  causation  can  be  inferred  a  priori,  because  for  each  par 
ticular  inference  we  need  the  basis  of  particular  experience ;  but 
general  causation  seems  possible  to  be  inferred  a  priori,  because 
in  the  full-statured  mind  general  causation  has  a  basis  of  general 
experience.  I  must  know  that  fire  does  melt  wax,  before  I  can 
infer  that  it  will  melt  wax  ;  but  I  can  infer  that  fire  will  do 
something  to  wax,  after  my  general  experience  of  fire  is,  that  it 
has  always  done  something  to  bodies.  This  general  inference  is 
founded  on  and  limited  by  general  experience,  in  the  same  way 
as  particular  inferences  are  founded  on  particular  experience. 
The  uncultured  mind  will  be  as  powerless  to  deduce  the  general 
inference,  as  the  cultured  mind  is,  to  deduce  the  particular  in 
ference,  a  priori  ;  and  so  true  is  this,  that  only  philosophical 
thinkers  are  capable  of  steadily  believing  in  that  causality  which 
Dr.  Whewell  designates  as  a  fundamental  idea. 

Thus,  belief  in  particular  laws  of  causation  is  no  more  than 
belief  in  our  experience;  and  if  we  are  asked  why  we  believe 

tion  made  for  the  purpose  of  saving  their  theory,  an  assumption  of  the  very 
point  at  issue. 


KANT'S  FUNDAMENTAL  PRINCIPLES.  665 

that  our  future  experience  will  resemble  the  past,  we  answer,  be 
cause  we  have  no  other  possible  belief  of  things  than  that  which 
is  formed  by  experience :  we  cannot  possibly  believe  the  candle 
as  not  burning  us  in  future,  because  our  experience  of  a  candle 
has  been,  that  it  does  burn,  and  our  beliefs  cannot  transcend  the 
experience  which  made  them. 

As  to  the  belief  in  universal  causation,  we  may  prove  in  vari 
ous  ways  that  it  is  the  result  of  a  mere  act  of  generalization ;  and 
this  very  act  itself  is  strictly  limited  by  experience :  that  is  to 
say,  we  are  led  by  the  laws  of  our  mind  to  judge  of  the  unknown 
according  to  the  known.  Thus,  having  found  every  event  which 
has  come  under  our  cognizance  produced  by,  some  cause,  we  con 
clude  that  every  possible  event  must  have  a  cause.  We  judge 
of  the  unknown  by  the  known.  Familiar  illustrations  of  this 
generalizing  tendency  are  those  rash  judgments  formed  of  na 
tions  and  of  classes,  and  founded  on  the  experience  of  a  single 
fact.  Thus  we  once  heard  it  gravely  asserted,  that  "  all  French 
babies  had  long  noses."  The  person  asserting  it  had  seen  a 
French  baby  with  a  long  nose.  Now  the  only  conception  of  a 
French  baby  in  this  person's  mind  was  that  of  a  baby  with  a 
long  nose.  That  was  the  type  according  to  which  all  unseen, 
unknown  babies  were  judged.  Not  being  a  very  reflective  per 
son,  he  could  not  divest  himself  of  his  conception,  and  he  could 
not  believe  that  his  conception  was  not  true  of  all  French  babies. 
Had  he  never  seen  other  French  babies,  he  would  perhaps  have 
died  in  the  belief  that  they  all  had  long  noses;  unless  some 
better-informed  person  had  corrected  this  conception  by  his 
larger  experience.  So,  if  we  had  only  the  experience  of  one  fact 
of  causation,  we  should  always  believe  in  that  fact — we  should 
always  believe  that  all  candles  would  burn.  To  make  many 
similar  experiences  of  the  conjunction  of  cause  and  effect,  is  not 
only  to  have  many  beliefs  in  particular  acts  of  causation,  it  is 
also  to  collect  materials  for  a  wide  generalization,  and  from  these 
known  conjunctions  to  pronounce  that  formula  of  universal  con 
junction  applied  to  unknown  and  yet  unborn  events. 


666  KANT. 

This  latter  process,  however,  is  performed  by  few.  All  believe 
irresistibly  in  particular  acts  of  causation.  Few  believe  in  uni 
versal  causation ;  and  those  few  not  till  after  considerable  reflec 
tion.  Philosophers,  indeed,  assure  us  that  this  belief  is  univer 
sal  ;  that  it  is  an  instinct ;  a  law  of  the  mind ;  a  Fundamental 
Idea.  If  philosophers  would  take  the  trouble  to  inquire  amongst 
intelligent  people,  they  would  find  that,  so  far  from  the  belief  in 
question  being  instinctive  and  irresistible,  the  great  majority 
have  no  consciousness  at  all  of  such  an  instinct — the  belief  never 
having  once  presented  itself  to  their  minds — the  proposition  re 
quiring  a  great  deal  of  explanation  and  argument  before  it  can 
be  received  ;  and  amongst  those  persons  many  would  absolutely 
refuse  to  admit  the  truth  of  the  proposition.  Those  who  live 
only  amongst  philosophers  will  doubt  this.  We  can,  however, 
declare  that  it  has  more  than  once  come  within  our  experience. 
We  have  argued  with  a  student  of  chemistry,  whom  we  found 
it  impossible  to  convince  that  the  law  "  Every  event  has  some 
cause"  is  universal.  He  not  only  could  conceive  it  to  be  other 
wise  in  the  moon ;  but  he  looked  upon  our  argument  as  an  un 
warrantable  assumption.  The  mystery  of  this  was,  that  he  had 
never  read  any  metaphysics,  and  had  but  mediocre  powers  of 
ratiocination.  What  shall  we  say  to  an  instinctive  belief,  which, 
unlike  all  other  instinctive  beliefs,  does  not  spontaneously  present 
itself  to  our  consciousness ;  and  when  presented,  is  with  the  ut 
most  difficulty  accepted  ;  and  accepted  only  by  some  ?  Com 
pare  this  with  any  other  instinctive  belief — that  in  the  existence 
of  an  external  world,  for  instance — and  see  what  characters  the 
two  have  in  common.  Ask  a  boor  if  he  believe  in  the  existence 
of  the  world,  and  he  will  think  you  mad  to  ask  him.  Ask  an 
ordinary  man  if  he  believe  that  every  effect  must  have  a  cause, 
and  the  chances  are  that  he  will  tell  you  he  does  not  know  ;  you 
will  find  it  difficult  to  make  him  understand  the  necessity. 

Nay,  to  leave  ordinary  men,  and  to  confine  ourselves  to  phi 
losophers,  amongst  them  we  shall  find  that,  with  respect  to  one 
class  of  phenomena,  more  than  one-half  of  the  thinking  world 


KANT'S  FUNDAMENTAL  PRINCIPLES.  667 

is  firmly  convinced  that  every  effect  does  not  imply  a  cause  :  the 
class  of  phenomena  referred  to  are  those  of  human  volitions.  All 
those  who  espouse  the  doctrine  of  Freedom  of  the  Will  declare 
that  all  our  volitions  are  self-caused, — that  is  to  say,  our  volitions 
are  not  caused  by  any  thing  external  to  themselves,  not  deter 
mined  by  any  prior  fact. 

If,  then,  speculative  men  can  be  led  to  believe  that  one  large 
class  of  phenomena  is  not  amenable  to  the  law  of  cause  and  ef 
fect,  what  becomes  of  the  universality  of  causation  ?  And  if 
speculative  men  can  conceive  the  laws  of  cause  and  effect  to  be 
absent  from  some  phenomena,  and  ordinary  men  do  not  con 
ceive  these  laws  to  be  universally  applicable,  what  becomes 
of  the  necessity?  And  if  the  mass  of  mankind  require  a  con 
siderable  quantity  of  argument  and  explanation  to  make  them 
understand  the  proposition,  what  becomes  of  the  instinctive 
belief? 

It  is  argued  that  a  belief  in  a  particular  act  of  causation  is 
only  possible  on  the  assumption  of  a  fundamantal  idea  of  causal 
ity  inherent  in  the  mind  ;  that,  although  a  child  may  never  have 
had  the  formula  "  Every  effect  must  have  a  cause"  presented  to 
his  mind,  nevertheless  this  formula  is  implicitly  in  his  mind, 
otherwise  he  would  have  no  reason  for  believing  in  the  particu 
lar  act ;  it  must  exist  as  a  fundamental  idea.  We  might  as 
rationally  argue  that  a  child  cannot  have  an  idea  of  a  man  with 
out  previously  having  a  fundamental  idea  of  humanity. 

The  fallacy  lies  in  this  :  the  fundamental  idea  of  causality  is  a 
generalization.  Now,  of  course,  the  general  includes  the  partic 
ulars  ;  but,  though  it  includes,  yet  it  does  not  precede  them,  and 
the  error  is  in  supposing  that  it  must  and  does  precede  them.  A 
boy,  as  Locke  says,  knows  that  his  whole  body  is  larger  than  his 
finger ;  but  he  knows  this  from  his  perceptions  of  the  two.  not 
from  any  knowledge  of  the  axiom  that  the  "  whole  is  greater 
than  a  part."  Dr.  WThewell  would  say  that  he  could  not  have 
such  knowledge  unless  he  had  the  fundamental  idea ;  whereas, 
we  side  with  Locke  in  asserting  that  the  mind  in  such  cases 


668  KANT. 

never  begins  with  generalities,  but  ends  with  them ;  and  to  say, 
that  because  the  general  axiom  implies  the  particular  instance, 
or  that  the  particular  instance  implies  the  general  axiom,  there 
fore  the  axiom  is  independent  of  experience,  is  to  cheat  one's  self 
with  words. 

The  belief  in  causation  is  belief  founded  upon  the  experience 
of  particular  acts  of  causation. 

The  irresistible  tendency  we  have  to  anticipate  that  the  future 
course  of  events  will  resemble  the  past,  is  simply  that  we  have 
experience  only  of  the  past,  and,  as  we  cannot  transcend  our  ex 
perience,  we  cannot  conceive  things  really  existing  otherwise 
than  as  we  have  known  them.  From  this  we  draw  a  conclusion 
strikingly  at  variance  with  the  doctrine  maintained  by  Kant  and 
Dr.  Whewell.  We  say,  that  the  very  fact  of  our  being  com 
pelled  to  judge  of  the  unknown  by  the  known — of  our  irresisti 
bly  anticipating  that  the  future  course  of  events  will  resemble 
the  past — of  our  incapacity  to  believe  that  the  same  effects 
should  not  follow  from  the  same  causes — this  very  fact  is  a 
triumphant  proof  of  our  having  no  ideas  not  acquired  through 
experience.  If  we  had  a  priori  ideas,  these,  as  independent  of, 
and  superior  to,  all  experience,  would  enable  us  to  judge  the  un 
known  according  to  some  other  standard  than  that  of  the  known. 
But  no  other  standard  is  possible  for  us.  We  cannot  by  any 
effort  believe  that  things  will  not  always  have  the  properties  we 
have  experienced  in  them ;  as  long  as  they  continue  to  exist,  we 
must  believe  them  to  exist  as  we  know  them. 

Although  belief  in  particular  acts  of  causation  is  irresistible 
and  universal,  yet  belief  in  the  general  proposition  "  Every  effect 
must  have  a  cause"  is  neither  irresistible  nor  universal,  but  is 
entertained  only  by  a  small  portion  of  mankind.  Consequently 
the  theory  of  a  priori  ideas  independent  of  all  experience,  re 
ceives  no  support  from  the  idea  of  Causality. 

In  a  "  Letter  to  the  Author  of  the  Prolegomena  Logica"  Dr. 
Whewell  has  restated  his  views,  to  meet  the  objections  of  his 
critics;  and  as  this  is  the  latest  development  of  the  Kantian 


669 

doctrine  which  I  have  seen,  it  may  not  be  uninstructive  to  con 
sider  it. 

Dr.  Whewell's  main  positions  are,  that  Necessary  Truths,  or 
Fundamental  Ideas,  are  independent  of  experience,  and  are  in 
tuitions,  which  are  seen  not  only  to  be  true,  but  necessarily  true, 
because  their  contraries  are  inconceivable.  The  only  condition 
presupposed  is,  that  the  Ideas  be  clearly  conceived.  He  says : 
"I  lay  stress  on  the  condition  that  the  Ideas  must  be  clearly  and 
distinctly  possessed.  The  Idea  of  Space  must  be  quite  clear  in 
the  mind,  or  else  the  Axioms  of  Geometry  will  not  be  seen  to  be 
true  :  there  will  be  no  intuition  of  their  truth ;  and  for  a  mind 
in  such  a  state,  there  can  be  no  Science  of  Geometry.  A  man 
may  have  a  confused  and  perplexed,  or  a  vacant  and  inert  state 
of  mind,  in  which  it  is  not  clearly  apparent  to  him,  that  two 
straight  lines  cannot  inclose  a  space.  But  this  is  not  a  frequent 
case.  The  Idea  of  Space  is  much  more  commonly  clear  in  the 
minds  of  men  than  the  other  Ideas  on  which  science  depends,  as 
Force  or  Substance.  It  is  much  more  common  to  find  minds  in 
which  these  latter  Ideas  are  not  so  clear  and  distinct  as  to  make 
the  Axioms  of  Mechanics  or  of  Chemistry  self-evident.  Indeed, 
the  examples  of  a  state  of  mind  in  which  the  Ideas  of  Force  or 
of  Substance  are  so  clear  as  to  be  made  the  basis  of  science,  are 
comparatively  few.  They  are  the  examples  of  minds  scientifi 
cally  cultivated,  at  least  to  some  extent.  Hence,  though  the 
Axioms  of  Mechanics  or  of  Chemistry  may  be,  in  their  own  na 
ture,  as  evident  as  those  of  Geometry,  they  are  not  evident  to  so 
many  persons,  nor  at  so  early  a  period  of  intellectual  or  scientific 
culture.  And  this  being  the  case,  it  is  not  surprising  that  some 
persons  should  doubt  whether  these  Axioms  are  evident  at  all ; 
I  should  think  that  it  is  an  error  to  assert  that  there  exist,  in 
such  sciences  as  Mechanics  or  Chemistry,  Fundamental  Ideas  fit 
to  be  classed  with  Space,  as  being,  like  it,  the  origin  of  Axioms." 

Aware  that  many  of  these  intuitive  ideas  are  so  far  from  being 
universally  acknowledged  that  many  persons  can  conceive  the 
contraries,  he  adds : 


670  KANT. 

"  This  difficulty  has  been  strongly  urged  by  Mr.  Mill,  as  sup 
porting  his  view,  that  all  knowledge  of  truth  is  derived  from  ex 
perience.  And  in  order  that  the  opposite  doctrine,  which  I  have 
advocated,  may  not  labor  under  any  disadvantages  which  really 
do  not  belong  to  it,  I  must  explain,  that  I  do  not  by  any  means 
assert  that  those  truths  which  I  regard  as  necessary,  are  all 
equally  evident  to  common  thinkers,  or  evident  to  persons  in  all 
stages  of  intellectual  development.  I  may  even  say,  that  some 
of  those  truths  which  I  regard  as  necessary,  and  the  necessity  of 
which  I  believe  the  human  mind  to  be  capable  of  seeing,  by  due 
preparation  and  thought,  are  still  such,  that  this  amount  of  prep 
aration  and  thought  is  rare  and  peculiar ;  and  I  Avill  willingly 
grant,  that  to  attain  to  and  preserve  such  a  clearness  and  subtlety 
of  mind  as  this  intuition  requires,  is  a  task  of  no  ordinary  diffi 
culty  and  labor." 

What,  it  may  be  asked,  is  all  this  preparation,  and  labor,  but 
experience  ?  If  these  Fundamental  Ideas  are  "  Intuitions"  which 
cannot  be  given  by  experience,  but  are  above  and  beyond  it, 
how  is  all  this  experience  needed  before  these  Necessary  Truths 
can  be  seen  to  be  true?  Dr.  Whewell  is  ready  with  his 
answer : 

"  That  some  steady  thought,  and  even  some  progress  in  the 
construction  of  Science,  is  needed  in  order  to  see  the  necessity 
of  the  Axioms  thus  introduced,  is  true,  and  is  repeatedly  asserted 
and  illustrated  in  the  History  of  the  Sciences.  The  necessity  of 
such  Axioms  is  seen,  but  it  is  not  seen  at  first.  It  becomes 
clearer  and  clearer  to  each  person,  and  clear  to  one  person  after 
another,  as  the  human  mind  dwells  more  and  more  steadily  on 
the  several  subjects  of  speculation.  There  are  scientific  truths 
ivhich  are  seen  by  intuition,  but  this  intuition  is  progressive.  This 
is  the  remark  which  I  wish  to  make,  in  answer  to  those  of  my 
critics  who  have  objected  that  truths  which  I  have  propounded 
as  Axioms,  are  not  evident  to  all." 

That  this  is  no  answer  at  all,  but  is  virtually  a  concession  of 
the  very  point  in  dispute,  will  be  seen  by  an  attentive  perusal  of 


KANT'S  FUNDAMENTAL  PRINCIPLES.  671 

the  following  passage,  wherein  he  brings  his  new  form  of  the 
doctrine  into  greater  distinctness: 

"An  able  writer  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  (No.  193,  p.  29) 
has,  in  like  manner,  said,  'Dr.  Whewell  seems  to  us  to  have  gone 
much  too  far  in  reducing  to  necessary  truths  what  assuredly  the 
generality  of  mankind  will  not  feel  to  be  so.'  It  is  a  fact  which 
I  do  not  at  all  contest,  that  the  generality  of  mankind  will  not 
feel  the  Axioms  of  Chemistry,  or  even  of  Mechanics,  to  be  ne 
cessary  truths.  But  I  had  said,  not  that  the  generality  of  man 
kind  would  feel  this  necessity,  but  (in  a  passage  just  before  quoted 
by  the  Reviewer)  that  the  mind,  under  certain  circumstances, 
attains  a  point  of  view  from  which  it  can  pronounce  mechanical 
(and  other)  fundamental  truths  to  be  necessary  in  their  nature, 
though  disclosed  to  us  by  experience  and  observation" 

If  these  truths,  said  to  be  intuitive  and  independent  of  expe 
rience,  are  by  Dr.  Whewell  confessed  to  be  "  disclosed  by  expe 
rience,"  there  can  be  but  one  point  of  separation  between  him 
and  his  critics ;  and,  if  I  have  understood  him  aright,  that  point 
is  the  character  of  "  necessity,"  which,  in  common  with  Kant,  he 
ascribes  to  these  truths.  The  fundamental  ideas,  when  seen,  are 
seen  to  be  not  only  true,  but  necessarily  true  ;  and  in  this  neces 
sity  lies  their  distinctive  characteristic. 

I  conceive  that  no  such  distinction  whatever  can  be  made  out 
between  truths  which  are  necessary  and  truths  which  are  contin 
gent.  All  truth  is  necessary  truth.  Although  all  opinions  are 
by  no  means  of  one  character,  some  being  evident,  some  prob 
able,  some  very  uncertain ;  yet  all  truths  are  true.  That  "  fire 
burns"  is  a  truth  as  "  necessary"  as  that  two  parallel  lines  cannot 
inclose  space.  That  sulphur  has  a  greater  affinity  for  iron 
than  for  lead,  is  a  truth  as  "necessary"  as  that  the  whole  is 
greater  than  a  part.  That  iron-rust  is  owing  to  the  action  of 
oxygen,  is  as  "  necessary"  a  truth  as  that  two  and  two  make 
four.  It  is  our  knowledge  which  is  contingent,  not  the  truth 
itself.  We  may  be  in  error  when  we  believe  the  fact  of  sul 
phur's  greater  affinity  for  iron  than  for  lead ;  in  matters  so  ill- 


672  KANT. 

understood  as  chemical  actions,  error  is  very  conceivable,  and 
our  supposed  truth  may  turn  out  a  misconception  ;  but  if  the  re 
lation  be  truly  stated,  the  truth  is  as  "  necessary"  as  that  two  and 
two  make  four.  The  whole  question,  therefore,  that  can  be 
raised,  is :  Is  the  asserted  relation  true  ?  and  not,  Is  the  truth 
necessary  ? 

To  make  this  clearer,  let  us,  instead  of  the  proposition  "  two 
and  two  make  four,"  substitute  "  seventy-two  and  one  hundred 
and  forty  make  two  hundred  and  twelve."  In  the  one  case  error 
is  impossible ;  by  no  freak  of  thought  can  we  conceive  two  and 
two  as  making  five ;  the  truth  is  perceived  directly,  and  the  in 
conceivability  of  the  contrary  is  confessed.  In  the  latter  case 
error  is  very  possible ;  unless  a  careful  calculation  be  made,  the 
mind  may  fall  into  error,  i.  e.  conceive  the  contrary  of  what  is 
true.  But  in  each  case  the  truth  expressed  is  the  relation  of 
numbers,  which  we  ascertain  by  experience.  So  also  the  prop 
osition  "fire  burns"  is  a  necessary  truth,  the  contrary  to  which 
is  as  inconceivable  as  the  contrary  of  "two  parallel  lines  can 
never  inclose  space."  For  although  we  can  imagine  it  "possible" 
that  fire,  under  some  circumstances,  should  not  burn,  we  can 
only  imagine  it  by  mentally  substituting  for  fire  some  otlier  thing 
called  by  that  name,  just  as  we  can  only  imagine  parallel  lines 
inclosing  space  by  mentally  bending  the  lines,  and  making  them 
other  than  parallel. 

Truths  are  nothing  but  perceived  relations ;  some  of  these  re 
lations  are  so  simple,  are  so  universally  presented  to  our  expe 
rience,  that  we  cannot  conceive  them  to  be  otherwise ;  and  thus 
no  freak  of  thought  will  enable  us  to  conceive  fire  not  burning, 
two  and  two  making  five,  or  parallel  lines  inclosing  space ;  while 
other  relations  are  so  complicated,  or  so  unfamiliar,  that  we  very 
easily  conceive  the  possibility  of  their  being  otherwise.  The 
oxidation  of  substances  is  so  familiar  to  the  chemist,  that  he  can 
not  conceive  what  to  the  general  public  is  very  conceivable ;  the 
relations  of  lines  and  surfaces  are  so  familiar  to  the  geometer, 
that  he  cannot  conceive  the  contrary  of  Euclid's  propositions : 


KANT'S  FUNDAMENTAL  PRINCIPLES.  673 

to  him  they  are  irresistible  truths ;  but  he  can  remember  the 
time  when  they  were  by  no  means  irresistible.  Dr.  Whewell 
explains  this  difference  by  the  difference  in  the  clearness  with 
which  the  geometer  "possesses  the  Idea  of  Space,"  a  clearness 
only  to  be  obtained  through  great  labor  and  training  of  the  mind  ; 
and  we  think  no  philosopher  ever  propounded  any  other  expla 
nation,  certainly  no  philosopher  belonging  to  the  school  which 
derives  all  our  ideas  from  experience. 

The  distinction,  then,  between  the  so-called  Necessary  and 
Contingent  Truths,  is  not  that  the  former  are  independent  of  ex 
perience,  and  are  truths  seen  to  be  necessarily  true,  while  the  latter 
are  seen  to  be  contingently  true,  the  contraries  being  conceiv 
able.  All  truths  are  seen  to  be  necessarily  true,  if  they  are  seen 
to  be  true  at  all ;  and  the  character  of  contingency  is  not  appli 
cable  to  the  relations  expressed  in  certain  formulas,  but  solely  to 
the  modes  in  which  we  got  at  those  formulas :  the  contingency 
of  "seventy-two  and  one  hundred  and  forty  making  two  hundred 
and  twelve,"  is  the  liability  of  our  miscalculating;  and  the  prop 
osition  is  a  contingent  one  until  we  have  so  checked  our  calcu 
lation  as  to  be  certain  we  have  ascertained  the  true  relations. 
Thus  it  is  held  that  all  animals  with  incisor  teeth  are  carnivorous ; 
we  have  ascertained  it  by  our  universal  experience  of  carnivorous 
animals ;  but,  strong  as  the  presumption  is  that  the  relation  is 
true,  we  are  forced  to  consider  it  a  contingent  truth,  because 
there  is  a  possibility  of  our  experience  some  day  detecting  an 
exception;  just  as  exceptions  have  been  detected  to  the  general 
relation  between  comparative  length  of  the  intestine  in  herbiv 
orous,  and  shortness  of  it  in  carnivorous,  animals,  but  we  never 
call  the  proposition  "  a  whole  is  greater  than  its  part"  a  contin 
gent  truth,  because  no  extension  of  experience  could  alter  rela 
tions  so  simple  and  so  universal;  we  cannot  call  "fire  burns  pa 
per"  a  contingent  truth,  because  no  extension  of  experience  can 
alter  relations  so  simple :  if,  by  way  of  exception,  a  case  of  in 
combustible  paper  be  exhibited,  we  know  that  the  original  prop 
osition  meant  ordinary  paper,  and  not  paper  of  different  prop- 

29 


674  KANT. 

erties.  We  cannot  call  the  truth  "  sugar  is  sweet"  contingent,  be 
cause  any  extension  of  our  experience  which  made  us  acquainted 
with  sugar  not  sweet,  would  bring  forward  some  other  kind  of  thing 
than  that  which  we  designate  by  the  name  of  sugar.  We  can 
not  call  the  truth  "  iron  is  heavy"  contingent.  We  can  call  no 
truths  contingent  except  those  which  express  relations  either 
complicated  or  unfamiliar;  simplicity  of  relation  implying  di 
rectness  of  perception,  and  universality  of  experience  coercing 
the  mind  into  uniformity  of  expectation.  The  Fundamental 
Ict'eas  which  Dr.  Whewell  distinguishes  as  Necessary  Truths,  are 
nothing  more  than  ideas  framed  in  our  minds  by  the  uniformity 
of  our  experience.  And  thus  we  return  to  the  old  position,  that 
experience,  and  experience  alone,  is  the  source  of  all  ideas. 

If  the  foregoing  arguments  are  valid,  what  becomes  of  Kant's 
system  ?  We  are  forced  to  conclude,  that  inasmuch  as  his 
stronghold — the  existence  of  a  priori  ideas — cannot  sustain  at 
tack,  the  entrance  of  the  enemy  Skepticism  is  inevitable.  Kant 
was  not  a  skeptic  ;  but  he  deceived  himself  in  supposing  that  his 
system  was  any  safeguard  from  Skepticism. 

The  veracity  of  Consciousness,  which  he  had  so  laboriously 
striven  to  establish,  and  on  which  his  Practical  Reason  was 
based,  is  only  a  relative,  subjective  veracity.  Experience  is  the 
only  basis  of  Knowledge  ;  and  Experience  leads  to  Skepticism. 


NINTH  EPOCH. 


ONTOLOGY    RE- ASSERTS    ITS    CLAIM.— THE    DEMONSTRATION 
OF  THE  SUBJECTIVITY  ONCE  MORE  LEADS  TO  IDEALISM. 


CHAPTER   I. 
FICHTE. 

§  I.    LIFE  OF  FICHTE. 

JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE  was  born  at  Rammenau,  a  village 
lying  between  Bischofswerda  and  Pulsniz,  in  Upper  Lusatia,  on 
the  19th  May,  1762.* 

His  childhood,  of  which  many  touching  anecdotes  are  related, 
was  signalized  by  extraordinary  intellectual  capacity  and  great 
moral  energy.  He  was  a  precocious  child,  and  long  before  he 
was  old  enough  to  be  sent  fo  school  he  learned  many  things 
from  his  father,  who  taught  him  to  read,  and  taught  him  the 
pious  songs  and  proverbs  wrhich  formed  his  own  simple  stock  of 
erudition.  With  these  various  studies  was  mixed  an  enchanting 
element — the  stories  of  his  early  wanderings  in  Saxony  and 
Franconia,  stories  to  which  young  Johann  listened  with  never- 
tiring  eagerness.  It  was  probably  the  vague  longings  \vhich 
these  recitals  inspired,  that  made  him  wander  into  the  fields, 
quitting  his  companions,  boisterous  in  mirth,  to  roam  away  and 
enjoy  the  luxury  of  solitude,  there  to  give  vent  to  the  indul- 

*  See  the  biography  by  Fichte's  son — Fichte's  Leben  und  literarischer 
£riefwechsel,  2  vols.,  1836. 


676  FICHTE. 

gence  of  those  unspeakable  longings.  This  pale  and  meditative 
child  is  at  ease  in  solitude.  He  stands  for  hours,  gazing  in  the 
far  distance,  or  in  mournful  yearning  at  the  silent  sky  over 
arching  him.  The  sun  goes  down,  and  the  boy  returns  home 
melancholy  with  the  twilight.  He  does  this  so  constantly  that 
neighbors  remark  it ;  comment  on  it ;  and,  in  after-years,  when 
that  boy  has  become  a  renowned  man,  they  recur  to  it  with  sud 
den  pleasure,  not  forgetting  also  that  they  had  "  always  said 
there  was  something  remarkable  in  the  boy." 

Fichte's  progress  was  so  rapid  that  he  was  soon  intrusted  with 
the  office  of  reading  family  prayers ;  and  his  father  cherished 
the  hope  of  one  day  seeing  him  a  clergyman.  An  event  curious 
in  itself,  and  very  important  in  its  influence  on  his  subsequent 
career,  soon  occurred,  which  favored  that  hope,  and  went  far  to 
realize  it.  But  before  we  relate  it  we  must  give  a  touching 
anecdote,  which  exhibits  Fichte's  heroic  self-command  in  a  very 
interesting  light.* 

The  first  book  which  fell  into  his  hands  after  the  Bible  and 
Catechism,  wras  the  renowned  history  of  Siegfried  the  Horned, 
and  it  seized  so  powerfully  on  his  imagination,  that  he  lost  all 
pleasure  in  any  other  employment,  became  careless  and  neglect 
ful,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  was  punished.  Then,  in 
the  spirit  of  the  injunction  which  tells  us  to  cut  off  our  right 
hand  if  it  cause  us  to  offend,  Fichte  resolved  to  sacrifice  the  be 
loved  book,  and,  taking  it  in  his  hand,  walked  slowly  to  a  stream 
flowing  past  the  house,  with  the  intention  of  throwing  it  in.  Long 
he  lingered  on  the  bank,  ere  he  could  muster  courage  for  this  first 
self-conquest  of  his  life  ;  but  at  length,  summoning  all  his  reso 
lution,  he  flung  it  into  the  water.  His  fortitude  gave  way  as  he 
saw  the  treasure,  too  dearly  loved,  floating  away  forever,  and  he 
burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears.  Just  at  this  moment  the 
father  arrived  on  this  spot,  and  the  weeping  child  told  what  he 

*  For  both  anecdotes  we  are  indebted  to  a  very  interesting  article  on 
Fichte  which  appeared  in  the  Foreign  Quarterly  Review,  No.  71.  We  have 
abridged  the  passages  ;  otherwise  the  narrative  is  unaltered. 


LIFE    OF    FICHTE.  677 

had  done  ;  but  either  from  timidity  or  incapacity  to  explain  his 
feelings,  was  silent  as  to  his  true  motive.  Irritated  at  this  treat 
ment  of  his  present,  Fichte's  father  inflicted  upon  him  an  un 
usually  severe  punishment,  and  this  occurrence  formed  a  fitting 
prelude  to  his  after-life,  in  which  he  was  so  often  misunderstood, 
and  the  actions  springing  from  the  purest  convictions  of  duty, 
were  exactly  those  for  which  he  had  most  to  suffer.  When  a 
sufficient  time  had  elapsed  for  the  offence  to  be  in  some  measure 
forgotten,  the  father  brought  home  another  of  these  seducing 
books  ;  but  Fichte  dreaded  being  again  exposed  to  the  tempta 
tion,  and  begged  that  it  might  rather  be  given  to  some  of  the 
other  children. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  other  event  before  alluded  to 
occurred.  The  clergyman  of  the  village,  who  had  taken  a  fancy 
to  Gottlieb  and  often  assisted  in  his  instruction,  happened  one 
day  to  ask  him  how  much  he  thought  he  could  remember  of  the 
sermon  of  the  preceding  day.  Fichte  made  the  attempt,  and,  to 
the  astonishment  of  the  pastor,  succeeded  in  giving  a  very  toler 
able  account  of  the  course  of  argument,  as  well  as  of  the  texts 
quoted  in  its  illustration.  The  circumstance  was  mentioned  to 
the  Count  von  Hoffmansegg,  the  lord  of  the  village,  and  one  day 
another  nobleman,  the  Baron  von  Mittiz,  who  was  on  a  visit  at 
the  castle,  happening  to  express  his  regret  at  having  been  too 
late  for  the  sermon  on  the  Sunday  morning,  he  was  told,  half  in 
jest,  that  it  was  of  little  consequence,  for  that  there  was  a  boy  in 
the  village  who  could  repeat  it  all  from  memory.  Little  Gott 
lieb  was  sent  for,  and  soon  arrived  in  a  clean  smock-frock  and 
bearing  a  large  nosegay,  such  as  his  mother  was  accustomed  to 
send  to  the  castle  occasionally  as  a  token  of  respect.  He  an 
swered  the  first  questions  put  to  him  with  his  accustomed  quiet 
simplicity  ;  but  when  asked  to  repeat  as  much  as  he  could  recol 
lect  of  the  morning's  sermon,  his  voice  and  manner  became  more 
animated,  and,  as  he  proceeded,  entirely  forgetting  the  presence 
of  the  formidable  company,  he  became  so  fervid  and  abundant 
in  his  eloquence,  that  the  Count  thought  it  necessary  to  interrupt 


678  FICHTE. 

him,  lest  the  playful  tone  of  the  circle  should  be  destroyed  by 
the  serious  subjects  of  the  sermon.  The  young  preacher  had 
however  made  some  impression  on  his  auditory ;  the  Baron 
made  inquiries  concerning  him,  and  the  clergyman,  wishing  for 
nothing  more  than  an  opportunity  to  serve  his  favorite,  gave  such 
an  account  that  the  Baron  determined  to  undertake  the  charge 
of  his  education.  He  departed,  carrying  his  protege  with  him, 
to  his  castle  of  Siebeneichen,  in  Saxony,  near  Meissen,  on  the 
Elbe ;  and  the  heart  of  the  poor  village  boy  sank,  as  he  beheld 
the  gloomy  grandeur  of  the  baronial  hall,  and  the  dark  oak  for 
ests  by  which  it  was  surrounded.  His  first  sorrow,  his  severest 
trial,  had  come  in  the  shape  of  what  a  misjudging  world  might 
regard  as  a  singular  piece  of  good  fortune,  and  so  deep  a  dejec 
tion  fell  on  him,  as  seriously  to  endanger  his  health.  His  patron 
here  manifested  the  really  kindly  spirit  by  which  he  had  been 
actuated ;  he  entered  into  the  feelings  of  the  child,  and  removed 
him  from  the  lordly  mansion  to  the  abode  of  a  country  clergy 
man  in  the  neighborhood,  who  was  passionately  fond  of  children, 
and  had  none  of  his  own.  Under  the  truly  paternal  care  of  this 
excellent  man,  Fichte  passed  some  of  the  happiest  years  of  his 
life,  and  to  its  latest  day  looked  back  to  them  with  tenderness 
and  gratitude.  The  affectionate  care  of  this  amiable  couple,  who 
shared  with  him  every  little  domestic  pleasure,  and  treated  him 
in  every  respect  as  if  he  had  been  indeed  their  son,  was  always 
remembered  by  him  with  the  liveliest  sensibility,  and  certainly 
exercised  a  most  favorable  influence  on  his  character. 

In  this  family,  Fichte  received  his  first  instruction  in  the  lan 
guages  of  antiquity,  in  which,  however,  he  was  left  much  to  his 
own  efforts,  seldom  receiving  what  might  be  called  a  regular  les 
son.  This  plan,  though  it  undoubtedly  invigorated  and  sharpened 
his  faculties,  left  him  imperfectly  acquainted  with  grammar,  and 
retarded,  in  some  measure,  his  subsequent  progress  at  Schul- 
pforte.  His  kind  preceptor  soon  perceived  the  inefficiency  of  his 
own  attainments  for  advancing  the  progress  of  so  promising  a 
pupil,  and  urged  his  patron  to  obtain  for  Fichte  what  appeared 


LIFE   OF   FICHTE.  679 

to  him  the  advantages  of  a  high  school.  He  was  accordingly 
sent,  first  to  Meissen,  and  afterwards  to  the  seminary  at  Schul- 
pforte. 

There  the  system  of  fagging  existed  in  full  force,  and  with  its 
usual  consequences,  tyranny  on  the  one  side,  dissimulation  and 
cunning  on  the  other.  Even  Fichte,  whose  native  strength  of 
character  in  some  measure  guarded  him  from  evil  influences  that 
might  have  been  fatal  to  a  mind  of  a  feebler  order,  confesses  that 
his  life  at  Schulpforte  was  any  thing  but  favorable  to  his  integ 
rity.  He  found  himself  gradually  reconciled  to  the  necessity  of 
ruling  his  conduct  by  the  opinion  of  the  little  community  around 
him,  and  compelled  to  practice  occasionally  the  same  artifices  as 
others,  if  he  would  not  with  all  his  talents  and  industry  be  al 
ways  left  behind. 

Into  this  microcosm  of  contending  forces  the  boy  of  thirteen, 
nurtured  amidst  lonely  hills  and  silent  forests,  now  found  himself 
thrown.  The  monastic  gloom  of  the  buildings  contrasted,  at 
first,  most  painfully  with  the  joyous  freedom  of  fields  and  woods, 
where  he  had  been  accustomed  to  wander  at  \vill ;  but  still  more 
painfully,  the  solitude  of  the  moral  desert.  Shy  and  shrinking 
within  himself  he  stood,  and  the  tears  which  furnished  only  sub 
jects  of  mockery  to  his  companions,  were  forced  back,  or  taught 
to  flow  only  in  secret.  Here,  however,  he  learned  the  useful  les 
son  of  self-reliance,  so  well,  though  so  bitterly  taught  by  want  of 
sympathy  in  those  around  us,  and  from  this  time  to  the  close  of 
his  life  it  was  never  forgotten.  It  was  natural  that  the  idea  of 
escape  should  occur  to  a  boy  thus  circumstanced,  but  the  dread 
of  being  retaken  and  brought  back  in  disgrace  to  Schulpforte, 
occasioned  hesitation.  While  brooding  over  this  project,  it  hap 
pened  that  he  met  with  a  copy  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  and  his  en 
thusiasm,  the  enthusiasm  of  thirteen,  was  kindled  into  a  blaze. 
The  desert  should  be  his  dwelling-place !  On  some  far-off  island 
of  the  ocean,  beyond  the  reach  of  men  and  the  students  of 
Schulpforte,  he  would  pass  golden  days  of  freedom  and  happi 
ness.  It  was  a  common  bovish  notion,  but  the  manner  in  which 


680  FICHTE. 

it  was  carried  into  execution,  shows  traces  of  the  character  of  the 
individual.  Nothing  could  have  been  easier  than  for  him  to 
have  taken  his  departure  unperceived  on  one  of  the  days  when 
the  scholars  were  allowed  to  go  to  the  playground ;  but  he 
scorned  to  steal  away  in  secret ;  he  would  have  this  step  appear 
as  the  result  of  necessity  and  deliberate  determination.  He 
therefore  made  a  formal  declaration  to  his  superior,  a  lad  who 
had  made  a  cruel  and  oppressive  use  of  the  brief  authority  in 
trusted  him,  that  he  would  no  longer  endure  the  treatment  he 
received,  but  would  leave  the  place  at  the  first  opportunity.  As 
may  be  supposed,  the  announcement  was  received  with  sneers 
and  laughter,  and  Fichte  now  considered  himself  in  all  honor 
free  to  fulfil  his  resolution.  It  was  easy  to  find  an  opportunity, 
and  accordingly,  having  taken  the  precaution  to  study  his  pro 
posed  route  on  the  map,  he  set  off,  and  trudged  on  stoutly  on 
the  road  to  Nauinberg.  As  he  walked,  however,  he  bethought 
himself  of  a  saying  of  his  beloved  old  pastor,  that  one  should 
never  begin  an  important  undertaking  without  a  prayer  for  Di 
vine  assistance ;  he  turned,  therefore,  and  kneeling  down  on  a 
green  hillock  by  the  roadside,  implored,  in  the  innocent  sincerity 
of  his  heart,  the  blessing  of  Heaven  on  his  wanderings.  As  he 
prayed,  it  occurred  to  the  new  Robinson  that  his  disappearance 
must  occasion  grief  to  his  parents,  and  his  joy  in  his  wild  scheme 
was  gone  in  a  moment.  "Never,  perhaps,  to  see  his  parents 
again !"  This  terrible  thought  suddenly  presented  itself  with 
such  force  that  he  resolved  to  retrace  his  steps,  and  meet  all  the 
punishments  that  might  be  in  store  for  him,  "that  he  might 
look  once  more  on  the  face  of  his  mother." 

On  his  return,  he  met  those  who  had  been  sent  in  pursuit  of 
him ;  for  as  soon  as  he  had  been  missed,  the  "  Obergesell"  had 
given  information  of  what  had  passed  between  them.  When 
carried  before  the  Rector,  Fichte  immediately  confessed  that  he 
had  intended  to  escape,  and  at  the  same  time  related  the  whole 
story  with  such  straightforward  simplicity  and  openness,  that  the 
Rector  became  interested  for  him,  and  not  only  remitted  his 


LIFE   OF   FICIITE.  681 

punishment,  but  chose  for  him,  among  the  elder  lads,  another 
master,  who  treated  him  with  the  greatest  kindness,  and  to  whom 
he  became  warmly  attached. 

Fichte  had  become  a  Candidatus  Theologia)  when  his  patron 
died,  and  with  him  died  all  hopes  of  being  a  clergyman.  His 
prospects  were  gloomy  in  the  extreme;  but  he  was  relieved  from 
anxiety  by  being  offered  the  situation  of  private  tutor  in  a  family 
in  Switzerland.  lie  soon  after  made  acquaintance  with  Lavater 
and  some  other  literary  men.  He  also  formed  an  attachment, 
which  was  to  last  him  through  life,  with  a  niece  of  Klopstock. 

Fichte's  tutorship  was  remarkable.  The  parents  of  his  pupils, 
although  neither  perfectly  comprehending  his  plans,  nor  approv 
ing  of  that  part  which  they  did  comprehend,  were  nevertheless 
such  admirers  of  his  moral  character — they  stood  in  such  re 
spectful  awe  of  him — that  they  were  induced  to  submit  their  own 
conduct  with  respect  to  their  children  to  his  judgment.  We 
presume  that  all  well-meaning  tutors  occasionally  make  sugges 
tions  to  parents  respecting  certain  points  in  their  conduct  tow 
ards  the  children ;  but  Fichte's  plan  is,  we  fancy,  quite  unexam 
pled  in  the  history  of  such  relations.  He  kept  a  journal  which 
he  laid  before  them  every  week,  and  in  which  he  had  noted  the 
faults  of  conduct  of  which  they  had  been  guilty.  This  lets  us 
into  the  secret  of  Fichte's  firm  and  truthful  character,  as  much 
as  any  thing  we  know  about  him.  It  was  from  such  a  soil  that 
we  might  expect  to  find  growing  the  moral  doctrines  which  af 
terwards  made  his  name  illustrious.  But  this  domestic  censor 
ship  could  not  last  long;  it  lasted  for  two  years;  and  that  it 
should  have  lasted  so  long  is,  as  has  been  remarked,  strong  ev 
idence  of  the  respect  in  which  his  character  was  held.  But  it 
was  irksome,  insupportable,  and  ended  at  length  in  mutual  dis 
satisfaction.  He  was  forced  to  seek  some  other  mode  of  subsist 
ence.  He  went  to  Leipzig,  where  he  gave  private  lessons  in 
Greek  and  Philosophy,  and  became  acquainted  with  the  writings 
of  Kant.  This  was  an  important  event  to  him.  Hear  in  what 
terms  he  speaks  of  it : 

29<> 


682 


FICHTE. 


"I  have  been  living,  for  the  last  four  or  five  mouths,  in  Leip 
zig,  the  happiest  life  I  can  remember.  I  came  here  with  my 
head  full  of  grand  projects,  which  all  burst  one  after  another, 
like  so  many  soap-bubbles,  without  leaving  me  so  much  as  the 
froth.  At  first  this  troubled  me  a  little,  and,  half  in  despair,  I 
took  a  step  which  I  ought  to  have  taken  long  before.  Since  I 
could  not  alter  what  was  without  me,  I  resolved  to  try  to  alter 
what  was  within.  I  threw  myself  into  Philosophy — the  Kantian, 
videlicet — and  here  I  found  the  true  antidote  for  all  my  evils, 
and  joy  enough  into  the  bargain.  The  influence  which  this  phi 
losophy,  particularly  the  ethical  part  of  it  (which,  however,  is 
unintelligible  without  a  previous  study  of  the  Kritik  der  reinen 
Vemunft)  has  had  upon  my  whole  system  of  thought,  the  revo 
lution  which  it  has  effected  in  my  mind,  is  not  to  be  described. 
To  you  especially  I  owe  the  declaration,  that  I  now  believe,  with 
my  whole  heart,  in  free  will,  and  that  I  see  that  under  this  sup 
position  alone  can  duty,  virtue,  and  morality  have  any  existence. 
From  the  opposite  proposition,  of  the  necessity  of  all  human 
actions,  must  flow  the  most  injurious  consequences  to  society ; 
and  it  may,  in  fact,  be  in  part  the  source  of  the  corrupt  morals 
of  the  higher  classes  which  we  hear  so  much  of.  Should  any 
one  adopting  it  remain  virtuous,  we  must  look  for  the  cause  of 
his  purity  elsewhere  than  in  the  innocuousness  of  the  doctrine. 
With  many  it  is  their  want  of  logical  consequence  in  their  actions. 

"  I  am  furthermore  well  convinced,  that  this  life  is  not  the  land 
of  enjoyment,  but  of  labor  and  toil,  and  that  every  joy  is  granted 
to  us  but  to  strengthen  us  for  further  exertion ;  that  the  manage 
ment  of  our  own  fate  is  by  no  means  required  of  us,  but  only  self- 
culture.  I  trouble  myself,  therefore,  not  at  all  concerning  the 
things  that  are  without;  I  endeavor  not  to  appear,  but  to  be. 
And  to  this,  perhaps,  I  owe  the  deep  tranquillity  I  enjoy  ;  my 
external  position,  however,  is  well  enough  suited  to  such  a  frame 
of  mind.  I  am  no  man's  master,  and  no  man's  slave.  As  to 
prospects,  I  have  none  at  all,  for  the  constitution  of  the  church 
here  does  not  suit  me,  nor,  to  say  the  truth,  that  of  the  people 


LIFE    OF    FICHTE.  683 

either.  As  long  as  I  can  maintain  my  present  independence  I 
shall  certainly  do  so.  I  have  been  for  some  time  working  at  an 
explanatory  abridgment  of  Kant's  Kritik  der  Urtheilskraft  (Crit 
ical  Inquiry  into  the  Faculty  of  Judgment),  but  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  come  before  the  public  in  a  very  immature 
state,  to  prevent  being  forestalled  by  a  hundred  vamped-up  pub 
lications.  Should  the  child  ever  make  its  appearance,  I  will  send 
it  to  you."* 

It  was  in  consequence  of  his  admiration  of  Kant,  that,  after 
several  ineffectual  attempts  to  settle  himself  he  went  to  Konings- 
berg.  Instead  of  a  letter  of  introduction,  Fichte  presented  Kant 
with  a  work,  written  in  eight  days,  and  which  bore  the  title  of 
A.  Critique  of  every  possible  Revelation.  Kant  at  once  recognized 
his  peer,  and  received  him  warmly.  But  Kant  himself,  though 
celebrated,  was  neither  rich  nor  influential.  Fichte's  affairs  were 
desperate.  We  have  his  own  confession  in  the  fragment  of  a 
journal  which  he  kept  at  the  time. 

"  28^  August. — I  yesterday  began  to  revise  my  Critique.  In 
the  course  of  my  meditation  some  new  and  excellent  ideas  were 
excogitated,  which  convinced  me  that  my  work  was  superficial. 
I  endeavored  to  carry  out  my  investigation  to-day ;  but  my  im 
agination  led  me  so  far  away,  that  I  could  do  nothing.  I  have 
reckoned  my  finances,  and  find  that  I  have  just  enough  to  sub 
sist  on  for  a  fortnight.  It  is  true  this  is  not  the  first  time  in  my 
life  that  I  have  found  myself  in  such  an  embarrassment,  but  I 
was  then  in  my  own  country ;  besides,  in  growing  older,  one's 
sense  of  honor  becomes  more  delicate,  and  distress  is  more  and 
more  of  a  hardship.  ...  I  have  not  been  able  to  make  any  res 
olution.  I  certainly  shall  not  speak  on  the  subject  to  M.  Bor- 
owsky,  to  whom  Kant  has  given  me  an  introduction.  If  I  speak 
to  any  one,  it  shall  be  to  Kant  himself. 

"  1st  Sept. — I  have  made  a  resolution  which  I  must  commu- 


*  It  was  never  printed ;  probably  because,  as  lie  here  anticipates,  he 
forestalled. 


684:  FICHTE. 

fticate  to  Kant.  A  situation  as  tutor,  however  reluctantly  I 
might  accept  it,  does  not  even  offer  itself;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  incertitude  in  which  I  am  placed  does  not  allow  me  to 
work.  I  must  return  home.  I  can  perhaps  borrow  from  Kant 
the  small  sum  necessary  for  my  journey.  I  went  to  him  to-day 
for  that  purpose,  but  my  courage  failed  me ;  I  resolved  to  write 
to  him. 

"  2d  Sept. — I  finished  my  letter  to  Kant,  and  sent  it. 

"  3d  Sept. — Received  an  invitation  to  dinner  from  Kant.  He 
received  me  with  his  usual  cordiality ;  but  informed  me  that  it 
would  be  quite  out  of  his  power  to  accede  to  my  request  for  an 
other  fortnight.  Such  amiable  frankness  ! 

"  I  have  done  nothing  lately  ;  but  I  shall  set  myself  to  work, 
and  leave  the  rest  to  Providence. 

"  6th  Sept. — Dined  with  Kant,  who  proposed  that  I  should 
sell  the  MS.  of  my  Critique  to  Ilartung  the  bookseller.  *  It  is 
admirably  written,'  said  he,  when  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  re 
write  it.  Is  that  true  ?  It  is  Kant  who  says  so. 

"  12th  Sept. — I  wanted  to  work  to-day;  but  could  do  noth 
ing.  How  will  this  end  ?  What  will  become  of  me  a  week 
hence  ?  Then  all  my  money  will  be  gone." 

These  extracts  will  not  be  read  without  emotion.  They  paint 
a  curious  picture  in  the  life  of  our  philosopher  :  a  life  which  was 
little  more  than  a  perpetual  and  energetic  combat. 

The  Critique  was  published  anonymously,  and  gained  immense 
applause  ;  partly,  no  doubt,  because  it  was  generally  mistaken 
for  the  production  of  Kant  himself.  The  celebrity  he  acquired 
when  the  authorship  was  disclosed,  was  the  means  of  procuring 
him  the  chair  of  Philosophy  at  Jena,  the  offer  of  which  was  made 
him  towards  the  end  of  1793. 

Jena  was  then  the  leading  University  of  Germany ;  and 
Fichte  might  flatter  himself  that  at  length  he  had  a  settled  posi 
tion,  in  which  he  might  calmly  develop  his  scientific  views. 
But  his  was  a  Fighter's  destiny.  Even  here,  at  Jena,  he  found 
himself  soon  opposing  and  opposed.  His  endeavors  to  instil  a 


LIFE   OF    FICHTE.  685 

higher  moral  feeling  into  the  students — his  anxiety  for  their  bet 
ter  culture — only  brought  on  him  the  accusation  of  endeavoring 
to  undermine  the  religious  institutions  of  his  country ;  and  his 
speculative  views  brought  on  him  the  charge  of  atheism. 

Atheism  is  a  grave  charge,  and  yet  how  lightly  made !  The 
history  of  opinion  abounds  in  instances  of  this  levity  ;  yet  scarce 
ly  ever  was  a  charge  more  groundless  in  appearance  than  that 
against  Fichte,  whose  system  was  atheistic  only  in  superficial  ap 
pearance.  Nevertheless  the  cry  was  raised,  and  he  had  to  battle 
against  it.  It  is  understood  that  the  Government  would  have 
been  willing  to  overlook  the  publication  of  the  work  which 
raised  this  cry,  if  Fichte  had  made  any  sort  of  explanatory  modi 
fication  ;  but  he  would  not  hear  of  it,  tendered  his  resignation, 
and  soon  afterwards  found  an  asylum  in  Prussia,  where  he  occu 
pied  the  Chair  at  Eiiangen,  and  afterwards  at  Berlin.  From 
his  career  at  Berlin  we  will  select  one  incident  typical  of  his 
character. 

The  students  are  assembled  in  crowds  to  hear  their  favorite 
professor,  who  is  to  lecture  that  day  upon  duty, — on  that  duty 
whose  ideal  grandeur  his  impassioned  eloquence  has  revealed  to 
them.  Fichte  arrives,  calm  and  modest.  He  lectures  with  his 
usual  dignified  calmness,  rising  into  fiery  bursts  of  eloquence,  but 
governed  by  the  same  marvellous  rigor  of  logic  as  before.  He 
leads  them  to  the  present  state  of  affairs.  On  this  topic  he  grows 
still  more  animated  ;  the  rolling  of  drums  without  frequently 
drowning  his  voice,  and  giving  him  fresh  spirit.  He  points  to 
the  bleeding  wounds  of  his  country ;  he  warms  with  hatred 
against  oppressors ;  and  enforces  it  as  the  duty  of  every  one  to 
lend  his  single  arm  to  save  his  country. 

"  This  course  of  lectures,"  he  exclaims,  "  will  be  suspended  till 
the  end  of  the  campaign.  We  will  resume  them  in  a  free  coun 
try,  or  die  in  the  attempt  to  recover  her  freedom."  Loud  shouts 
respondent  ring  through  the  hall ;  clapping  of  hands  and  stamp 
ing  of  feet  make  answer  to  the  rolling  drums  without ;  every 
German  heart  there  present  is  moved,  as  at  the  sound  of  a 


686  FICHTE. 

trumpet.  Fichte  descends ;  passes  through  the  crowd ;  and 
places  himself  in  the  ranks  of  a  corps  of  volunteers  then  depart 
ing  for  the  army.  It  is  the  commencement  of  the  memorable 
compaign  of  1813. 

In  another  year  he  was  no  more ;  he  fell,  not  by  a  French 
bullet,  but  by  the  fever  caught  while  tending  his  loved  wife,  who 
herself  had  fallen  a  victim  to  her  attendance  on  unknown  suffer 
ers.  On  the  28th  of  January,  1814,  aged  fifty-two,  this  noble 
Fichte  expired. 

There  are  few  characters  which  inspire  more  admiration  than 
that  of  Fichte  ;  we  must  all  admire  "  that  cold,  colossal,  ada 
mantine  spirit  standing  erect  and  clear,  like  a  Cato  Major  among 
degenerate  men ;  fit  to  have  been  the  teacher  of  the  Stoa,  and 
to  have  discoursed  of  beauty  and  virtue  in  the  groves  of  Aca 
deme  !  So  robust  an  intellect,  a  soul  so  calm,  so  lofty,  massive, 
and  immovable  has  not  mingled  in  philosophical  discussion  since 
the  time  of  Luther.  For  the  man  rises  before  us  amid  contra 
diction  and  debate  like  a  granite  mountain  amid  clouds  and 
winds.  Ridicule  of  the  best  that  could  be  commanded  has  been 
already  tried  against  him ;  but  it  could  not  avail.  What  was 
the  wit  of  a  thousand  wits  to  him  ?  The  cry  of  a  thousand  choughs 
assaulting  that  old  cliff  of  granite  ;  seen  from  the  summit,  these, 
as  they  winged  the  midway  air,  showed  scarce  so  gross  as  bee 
tles,  and  their  cry  was  seldom  even  audible.  Fichte's  opinions 
may  be  true  or  false  ;  but  his  character  as  a  thinker  can  be 
slightly  valued  only  by  those  who  know  it  ill ;  and  as  a  man  ap 
proved  by  action  and  suffering,  in  his  life  and  in  his  death,  he 
ranks  with  a  class  of  men  who  were  common  only  in  better  ages 
than  ours."* 

§  II.  FICHTE'S  HISTORICAL  POSITION. 

Kant's  Criticism,  although  really  leaving  skepticism  in  posses 
sion  of  the  field,  was  nevertheless  believed  to  have  indicated  a 

*  Carlyle. 


FICHTE'S  HISTORICAL  POSITION.  687 

new  domain,  in  which  a  refuge  might  be  found.  The  thought 
soon  suggested  itself  that  on  this  domain  an  indestructible  tem 
ple  might  be  erected.  Kant  had  driven  the  piles  deep  down  into 
the  earth — a  secure  foundation  was  made ;  but  Kant  had  de 
clined  building. 

Jacobi,  for  one,  saw  in  the  principles  of  "  criticism"  a  path  on 
which  he  could  travel.  He  maintained,  that  just  as  Sense  was, 
according  to  Kant,  a  faculty  whereby  we  perceived  material 
things,  so  also  was  Reason  a  sense,  a  faculty,  whereby  we  per 
ceive  the  supersensual. 

It  was  indeed  soon  evident  that  men  would  not  content  them 
selves  with  the  mere  negation  to  which  Kant  had  reduced  our 
knowledge  of  things  per  se.  It  was  the  positive  part  of  his  sys 
tem  they  accepted  and  endeavored  to  extend.  This  attempt 
forms  the  matter  of  all  the  subsequent  history  of  German  Philos 
ophy  till  Hegel.  We  will  briefly  state  the  nature  of  the  dis 
cussions  which  the  result  of  Kant's  system  had  rendered  im 
perative. 

Kant  had  postulated  the  existence  of  an  object  as  the  neces 
sary  correlate  to  a  subject.  Knowledge  was  both  objective  and 
subjective  ;  but  inasmuch  as  it  was  thus  inseparably  twofold  it 
could  never  penetrate  the  essence  of  things — it  could  never  know 
the  object — it  could  only  know  phenomena.  Hence  the  pro 
blem  was  : 

What  is  the  relation  of  object  and  subject  ? 

To  solve  this,  it  was  necessary  to  penetrate  the  essence  of 
things,  to  apprehend  noumena.  All  the  efforts  of  men  were 
therefore  to  be  directed  towards  this  absolute  science.  The 
ground  of  all  certitude  being  in  the  a  priori  ideas,  an  attempt 
was  made  to  construct  a  priori  the  whole  system  of  human 
knowledge. 

The  Ego  was  the  necessary  basis  of  the  new  edifice.  Conscious 
ness,  as  alone  certain,  ivas  proclaimed  the  ground  upon  which  ab 
solute  science  must  rest.  - 

Fichte's  position  is  here  clearly  marked  out.     His  sole  object 


688  FICHTE. 

was  to  construct  a  science  out  of  consciousness,  and  thereon  to 
found  a  system  of  morals. 

Let  us  at  the  outset  request  the  reader  to  give  no  heed  to  any 
of  the  witticisms  which  he  may  hear,  or  which  may  suggest 
themselves  to  him  on  a  hasty  consideration  of  Fi elite's  opinions. 
That  the  opinions  are  not  those  of  ordinary  thinkers,  we  admit ; 
that  they  are  repugnant  to  all  "  common  sense,"  we  must  also 
admit ;  that  they  are  false,  we  believe  :  but  we  also  believe 
them  to  have  been  laborious  products  of  an  earnest  mind,  the 
consequences  of  admitted  premises,  drawn  with  singular  audacity 
and  subtlety,  and  no  mere  caprices  of  ingenious  speculation — no 
paradoxes  of  an  acute  but  trifling  mind. 

It  was  within  him  that  he  found  a  lamp  to  light  him  on  his 
path.  Deep  in  the  recesses  of  his  soul,  beneath  all  understand 
ing,  superior  to  all  logical  knowledge,  there  lay  a  faculty  by 
which  truth,  absolute  truth,  might  be  known. 

"I  have  found  the  organ,"  he  says  in  his  Bestimmung  des 
Menschen,  "  by  which  to  apprehend  all  reality.  It  is  not  the 
understanding;  for  all  knowledge  supposes  some  higher  knowl 
edge  on  which  it  rests,  and  of  this  ascent  there  is  no  end.  It  is 
Faith,  voluntarily  reposing  on  views  naturally  presenting  them 
selves  to  us,  because  through  these  views  alone  we  can  fulfil  our 
destiny,  which  sees  our  knowledge,  and  pronounces  that  '  it  is 
good,'  and  raises  it  to  certainty  and  conviction.  It  is  no  knowl 
edge,  but  a  resolution  of  the  will  to  admit  this  knowledge. 
This  is  no  mere  verbal  distinction,  but  a  true  and  deep  one, 
pregnant  with  the  most  important  consequences.  Let  me  for 
ever  hold  fast  by  it.  All  my  conviction  is  but  faith,  and  it  pro 
ceeds  from  the  will  and  not  from  the  understanding ;  from  the 
will  also,  and  not  from  the  understanding,  must  all  the  true  cul 
ture  proceed.  Let  the  first  only  be  firmly  directed  towards  the 
Good,  the  latter  will  of  itself  apprehend  the  True.  Should  the 
latter  be  exercised  and  developed  while  the  former  remains 
neglected,  nothing  can  come  of  it  but  a  facility  in  vain  and  end 
less  sophistical  subtleties  refining  away  into  the  absolutely  void 


689 

inane.  I  know  that  every  seeming  truth,  born  of  thought  alone, 
and  not  ultimately  resting  on  faith,  is  false  and  spurious;  for 
knowledge,  purely  and  simply  such,  when  carried  to  its  utmost 
consequences,  leads  to  the  conviction  that  we  can  know  nothing  ! 
Such  knowledge  never  finds  any  thing  in  the  conclusions,  which 
it  has  not  previously  placed  in  the  premises  by  faith  ;  and  even 

then  its  conclusions  are  not  always  correct Every  human 

creature  born  into  the  world  has  unconsciously  seized  on  the 
reality  which  exists  for  him  alone  through  this  intuitive  faith. 
If  in  mere  knowledge — in  mere  perception  and  reflection — we 
can  discover  no  ground  for  regarding  our  mental  presentations 
as  more  than  mere  pictures,  why  do  we  all  nevertheless  regard 
them  as  more,  and  imagine  for  them  a  basis,  a  substratum  inde 
pendent  of  all  modifications  ?  If  we  all  possess  the  capacity  and 
the  instinct  to  go  beyond  this  natural  view  of  things,  why  do  so 
few  of  us  follow  this  instinct,  or  exercise  this  capacity? — nay, 
why  do  we  even  resist  with  a  sort  of  bitterness  when  we  are 
urged  towards  this  path  ?  What  holds  us  imprisoned  in  these 
natural  boundaries  ?  Not  inferences  of  our  reason ;  for  there 
are  none  which  could  do  this.  It  is  our  deep  interest  in  reality 
that  does  this — in  the  good  that  we  are  to  produce — in  the  com 
mon  and  the  sensuous  that  we  are  to  enjoy.  From  this  interest 
can  no  one  who  lives  detach  himself,  and  just  as  little  from  the 
faith  which  forces  itself  upon  him  simultaneously  with  his  exist 
ence.  We  are  all  born  in  faith,  and  he  who  is  blind  follows 
blindly  the  irresistible  attraction.  He  who  sees  follows  by  sight, 
and  believes  because  he  will  believe."* 

Here  the  limit  set  by  Kant  is  overleaped :  a  knowledge  of 
realities  is  affirmed.  But  it  is  not  enough  to  affirm  such  a 
knowledge  ;  we  must  prove  it.  To  prove  this  is  the  mission  of 
Philosophy. 

Fichte,  who  thought  himself  a  true  Kantist,  although  Kant 
very  distinctly  and  publicly  repudiated  him,  declared  that  the 

*  We  adopt  the  translation  of  Mrs.  Percy  Sinnett :  Destination,  of  Man, 
London,  1846. 


690 


FICHTE. 


materials  for  a  science  had  been  discovered  by  Kant ;  nothing 
more  was  needed  than  a  systematic  co-ordination  of  these  mate 
rials:  and  this  task  he  undertook  in  his  famous  Doctrine  of 
Science  (Wissenschaftslehre).  In  this  he  endeavored  to  con 
struct  a  priori  all  knowledge. 

§  III.  BASIS  OF  FICHTE'S  SYSTEM. 

We  are  supposed  to  perceive  external  objects  through  the 
ideas  which  these  objects  excite  in  us.  But  this  assumption  is 
not  warranted  by  the  facts  of  consciousness.  What  is  the  fun 
damental  fact  ?  It  is  that  I  have  in  my  mind  a  certain  idea. 
This,  and  this  only,  is  primitively  given.  When  we  leave  this 
fact  in  quest  of  an  explanation,  we  are  forced  to  admit  either 
that  this  idea  is  spontaneously  evolved  by  me  ;  or  else  some  not- 
me — something  different  from  myself — has  excited  it  in  me. 
Idealism  or  Dualism  ?  choose  between  them. 

Kant,  unwilling  to  embrace  idealism,  and  unable  to  conceive 
how  the  Ego  spontaneously  evolved  within  itself,  ideas  of  that 
which  it  regarded  as  different  from  itself,  postulated  the  exist 
ence  of  a  Non-Ego,  but  declared  that  we  knew  nothing  of  it. 
In  this  he  followed  Locke,  and  the  majority  of  philosophers. 

Truly,  said  Fichte,  we  know  nothing  of  it ;  we  can  only  know 
that  which  passes  within  ourselves.  Only  so  much  as  we  are 
conscious  of  can  we  know ;  but  in  consciousness  there  is  no  ob 
ject  given,  there  is  only  an  idea  given.  Are  we  forced  by  the 
very  laws  of  our  reason  to  suppose  that  there  is  Non-Ego  exist 
ing  ? — are  we  forced  to  assume  that  these  ideas  are  images  of 
something  out  of  us  and  independent  of  us  ?  To  what  does  this 
dilemma  bring  us  ?  Simply  to  this  :  that  the  very  assumption, 
here  called  a  necessary  consequence  of  our  mental  constitution — 
this  Non-Ego,  which  must  be  postulated,  is,  after  all,  nothing  but 
a  postulate  of  our  reason ;  is  therefore  a  product  of  the  Ego.  It 
is  the  Ego  which  thus  creates  the  necessity  for  a  Non-Ego ;  it  is 
the  Ego  which  thus,  answering  to  the  necessity,  creates  the  Non- 
Ego  wanted.  Ideas,  and  nothing  but  ideas,  are  given  in  the 


BASIS  OF  FICHTE'S  SYSTEM.  691 

primitive  fact  of  consciousness.  These  are  the  products  of  the 
activity  of  the  Ego ;  and  not,  as  is  so  commonly  asserted,  the 
products  of  the  passivity  of  the  Ego.  The  soul  is  no  passive 
mirror  reflecting  images.  It  is  an  active  principle  creating  them. 
The  soul  is  no  lifeless  receptivity.  Were  it  not  brimming  over 
with  life  and  activity,  perception  would  be  impossible.  One 
stone  does  not  perceive  another.  A  mould  does  not  perceive  the 
liquid  that  is  poured  into  it. 

Consciousness  is  in  its  very  essence  an  activity.  Well,  then, 
if  in  its  activity  it  produces  images,  and  if  by  the  laws  of  its 
nature  it  is  forced  to  assume  that  these  images  have  some  sub 
stratum,  what  is  this  assumption  but  another  form  of  the  soul's 
activity  ?  If  the  Ego  is  conscious  of  its  changes,  and  yet  is 
forced  to  attribute  these  changes  to  some  external  cause,  what  is 
this  very  act  of  assuming  an  external  cause  but  the  pure  act  of 
the  Ego  ? — another  change  in  the  consciousness  ? 

You  admit  that  we  cannot  know  Substance  ;  all  our  knowl 
edge  is  limited  to  accidents — to  phenomena.  But,  you  say,  you 
are  forced  to  assume  a  Substance  as  the  basis  of  these  accidents 
— a  noumenon  as  that  whereby  phenomena  are  possible;  and 
yet  you  cannot  know  this  noumenon.  Fichte  answers :  If  you 
cannot  know  it,  your  assumption,  as  the  mere  product  of  your 
reason,  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  another  form  of  the  activity 
of  the  Ego.  It  is  you  who  assume ;  and  you  assume  ivhat  you 
call  Substance.  Substance  is  nothing  but  the  synthesis  of  acci 
dents.  And  it  is  a  mental  synthesis. 

Thus  Fichte  founded  Idealism  upon  the  basis  of  consciousness, 
which  was  the  admitted  basis  of  all  certitude ;  and  he  not  only 
founded  idealism,  but  reduced  the  Ego  to  an  activity,  and  all 
knowledge  to  an  act. 

The  activity  of  the  Ego  is  of  course  an  assumption,  but  it  is 
the  only  assumption  necessary  for  the  construction  of  a  science. 
That  once  admitted,  the  existence  of  the  Non-Ego,  as  a  product 
of  the  Ego,  follows  as  a  necessary  consequence. 

Every  one  will  admit  that  A  =  A ;  or  that  A  is  A.     This  is 


692  FICHTE. 

an  axiom  which  is  known  intuitively,  and  has  no  need  of  proof. 
It  is  the  proposition  of  absolute  identity  (Satz  der  Identltat).  It 
is  absolutely  true.  In  admitting  this  to  be  absolutely  true,  we 
ascribe  to  the  mind  a  faculty  of  knowing  absolute  truth. 

But  in  saying  A  equals  A,  we  do  not  affirm  the  existence  of  A  ; 
we  only  affirm  that  if  A  exist,  then  it  must  equal  A.  And  the 
axiom  teaches  us  not  that  A  exists ;  but  there  is  a  necessary  re 
lation  between  a  certain  if  and  then  ;  and  this  necessary  relation 
we  will  call  X.  But  this  relation,  this  X,  is  only  in  the  Ego, 
comes  only/ro?ft  the  Ego.  It  is  the  Ego  that  judges  in  the  pre 
ceding  axiom  that  A  =  A ;  and  it  judges  by  means  of  X. 

To  reduce  this  to  language  a  little  less  scholastic,  we  may  say 
that,  in  every  judgment  which  the  mind  makes,  the  act  of  judg 
ing  is  an  act  of  the  Ego. 

But  as  the  X  is  wholly  in  the  Ego,  so  therefore  is  A  in  the 
Ego,  and  is  posited  by  the  Ego.  And  by  this  we  see  that  there 
is  something  in  the  Ego  which  is  forever  one  and  the  same,  and 
that  is  the  X.  Hence  the  formula,  "  I  ami:  Ego  =  Ego." 

We  come  here  to  the  Cogito,  ergo  sum,  of  Descartes,  as  the 
basis  of  all  certitude.  The  Ego  posits  itself,  and  is  by  means  of 
this  very  self-positing.  When  I  say  "  I  am,"  I  affirm,  in  con 
sciousness,  my  existence ;  and  this  affirmation  of  my  conscious 
ness  is  the  condition  of  my  existence.  The  Ego  is  therefore  at 
one  and  the  same  time  both  the  activity  and  the  product  of  ac 
tivity  ;  precisely  as  thought  is  both  the  thinking  activity,  and 
the  product  thought. 

We  will,  for  the  present,  spare  the  reader  any  further  inflic 
tion  of  such  logical  abstractions.  lie  will  catch  in  the  foregoing 
a  glimpse  of  Fi elite's  method,  and  be  in  some  way  able  to  esti 
mate  the  strength  of  the  basis  on  which  idealism  reposes. 

The  great  point  Fichte  has  endeavored  to  establish  is  the 
identity  of  being  and  thought — of  existence  and  consciousness — 
of  object  and  subject.  And  he  establishes  this  by  means  of  the 
Ego  considered  as  essentially  an  activity. 

Hence  the  conclusion  drawn  in  the  practical  part  of  his  phi- 


BASIS  OF  FICHTE'S  SYSTEM.  693 

losophy,  that  the  true  destination  of  man  is  not  thought,  but 
action,  which  is  thought  realized.  "  I  am  free,"  he  says.  That 
is  the  revelation  of  consciousness.  "  I  am  free ;  and  it  is  not 
merely  my  action,  but  the  free  determination  of  my  will  to  obey 
the  voice  of  conscience,  that  decides  all  my  worth.  More  bright 
ly  does  the  everlasting  world  now  rise  before  me ;  and  the  fun 
damental  laws  of  its  order  are  more  clearly  revealed  to  my  men 
tal  si^ht.  My  will  alone,  lying  hid  in  the  obscure  depths  of  my 
soul,  is  the  first  link  in  a  chain  of  consequences  stretching 
through  the  invisible  realms  of  spirit,  as  in  this  terrestrial  world 
the  action  itself,  a  certain  movement  communicated  to  matter,  is 
the  first  link  in  a  material  chain  of  cause  and  effect,  encircling 
the  whole  system.  The  will  is  the  efficient  cause,  the  living- 
principle  of  the  world  of  spirit,  as  motion  is  of  the  world  of 
sense.  I  stand  between  two  worlds,  the  one  visible,  in  which  the 
act  alone  avails,  and  the  intention  matters  not  at  all ;  the  other 
invisible  and  incomprehensible,  acted  on  only  by  the  will.  In 
both  these  worlds  I  am  an  effective  force.  The  Divine  life,  as 
alone  the  finite  mind  can  conceive  it,  is  self-forming,  self-repre 
senting  will,  clothed,  to  the  mortal  eye,  with  multitudinous  sen 
suous  forms,  flowing  through  me  and  through  the  whole  im 
measurable  universe,  here  streaming  through  my  veins  and 
muscles, — there,  pouring  its  abundance  into  the  tree,  the  flower, 
the  grass.  The  dead,  heavy  mass  of  inert  matter,  which  did  but 
fill  up  nature,  has  disappeared,  and,  in  its  stead,  there  rushes  by 
the  bright,  everlasting  flood  of  life  and  power,  from  its  Infinite 
Source. 

"  The  Eternal  Will  is  the  Creator  of  the  world,  as  he  is  the 
Creator  of  the  finite  reason.  Those  who  will  insist  that  the 
world  must  have  been  created  out  of  a  mass  of  inert  matter, 
which  must  always  remain  inert  and  lifeless,  like  a  vessel  made 
by  human  hands,  know  neither  the  world  nor  Him.  The  In 
finite  Reason  alone  exists  in  himself — the  finite  in  him  ;  in  our 
minds  alone  has  he  created  a  world,  or  at  least  that  by  and 
through  which  it  becomes  unfolded  to  us.  In  his  light  we  be- 


694  FICHTE. 

hold  the  light,  and  all  that  it  reveals.  Great,  living  Will! 
whom  no  words  can  name,  and  no  conception  embrace  !  well 
may  I  lift  my  thoughts  to  thee,  for  I  can  think  only  in  thee.  In 
thee,  the  Incomprehensible,  does  my  own  existence,  and  that  of 
the  world,  become  comprehensible  to  me  ;  all  the  problems  of 
being  are  solved,  and  the  most  perfect  harmony  reigns.  I  veil 
my  face  before  thee  and  lay  my  linger  on  my  lips." 

§  IV.  FICHTE'S  IDEALISM. 

The  ground-principle  of  Fichte's  idealism  having  been  given, 
we  have  now  to  see  how  he  avoids  the  natural  objections  which 
rise  against  such  a  doctrine.  But  first  let  us  notice  how  this 
deification  of  personality  was  at  once  the  most  natural  product 
of  such  a  mind  as  Fichte's,  and  the  best  adapted  to  the  spirit  of 
the  age  which  produced  it.  His  doctrine  was  an  inspiration  of 
that  ardent  and  exalted  spirit  which  stirred  the  heart  of  Ger 
many,  and  made  the  campaign  of  1813  an  epoch  in  history. 
Germany  then,  as  now,  was  most  deficient  in  energetic  will.  It 
had  armies,  and  these  armies  were  headed  by  experienced  gener 
als.  But  among  them  there  was  scarcely  another  beyond  the 
impetuous  Blucher,  who  had  steadfast  will.  They  were  beaten 
and  beaten.  At  length  they  were  roused.  A  series  of  insults 
had  roused  them.  They  rose  to  fight  for  fatherland  ;  and  in 
their  ranks  was  Fichte,  who  by  deed  as  well  as  doctrine  sought 
to  convince  them  that  in  Will  lay  man's  divinity. 

The  question  being,  What  is  the  relation  of  Object  and  Sub 
ject  ?  and  Fichte's  solution  being  Object  and  Subject  are  identi 
cal,  it  followed  from  his  position  that  inasmuch  as  an  Object  and 
a  Subject — a  Non-Ego  and  an  Ego — were  given  in  knowledge, 
and  the  distinction  between  them  by  all  men  supposed  to  be 
real,  the  origin  of  this  distinction  must  arise  in  one  of  two  ways  : 
either  the  Ego  must  posit  the  Non-Ego,  wilfully  and  consciously 
(in  which  case  mankind  would  never  suppose  the  distinction  to 
be  a  real  distinction) ;  or  else  the  Ego  must  cause  the  Non-Ego 
to  be,  and  must  do  so  necessarily  and  unconsciously. 


695 

How  does  Fichte  solve  the  problem  ?  He  assumes  that  the 
existence  of  the  very  Ego  itself  is  determined*  by  the  Non-Ego  ; 
and  in  this  way  :  To  be,  and  to  be  conscious,  are  the  same.  The 
existence  of  the  Ego  depends  upon  its  consciousness.  But  to  be 
conscious  of  Self  is  at  the  same  time  to  be  conscious  of  Not-Self; 
the  correlates  Self  and  Not-Self  are  given  in  the  same  act  of  con 
sciousness.  But  how  is  it  that  we  attribute  reality  to  Not-Self? 
Just  as  we  attribute  reality  to  Self,  namely,  by  an  act  of  Con 
sciousness.  Not-Self  is  given  in  Consciousness  as  a  reality,  and 
therefore  we  cannot  suppose  it  to  be  a  phantom. 

We  may  pause  here  to  remark  how  all  the  witticisms  against 
Idealism  fall  to  the  ground.  The  wits  assume  that  when  it  is 
said  the  World  is  produced  by  the  Ego,  this  World  must  be  held 
as  a  phantom.  Now  nobody  ever  believed  that  external  objects 
had  no  reality  ;  the  only  possible  doubt  is  as  to  whether  they 
have  any  reality  independent  of  mind. 

In  consciousness  we  have  a  twofold  fact,  namely,  the  fact  of 
Self,  and  the  fact  of  Not-Self,  indissolubly  given  in  one.  We 
conclude  therefore  that  Consciousness — that  the  Ego — is  partly 
self-determined,  and  partly  determined  by  not-self.  Let  us  sup 
pose  the  entire  reality  of  the  Ego  (that  is,  in  its  identity  of  Sub 
ject  and  Object)  represented  by  the  number  ten.  The  Ego, 
conscious  of  five  of  its  parts — or,  to  speak  with  Fichte — positing 
five,  does  by  that  very  act  posit  five  parts  negatively  in  itself. 
But  how  is  it  that  the  Ego  can  posit  a  negation  in  itself?  It 
does  so  by  the  very  act  of  Consciousness ;  in  the  act  of  sepa 
rating  five  from  ten,  the  five  remaining  are  left  passive.  The 
negation  is  therefore  the  passivity  of  the  Ego.  This  seems  to 
lead  to  the  contradiction  that  the  Ego,  which  was  defined  as  an 
Activity,  is  at  the  same  time  active  and  passive.  The  solution 

*  The  German  word  bestimmen,  which  we  are  forced  to  translate  "to  de 
termine,"  is  of  immense  use  to  the  metaphysicians  ;  we  would  gladly  have 
substituted  some  other  equivalent,  could  we  have  found  one  to  represent 
the  meaning  better.  To  determine,  in  philosophy,  does  not  mean  (as  in  or 
dinary  language),  to  resolve,  but  to  render  definite.  Chaos,  when  deter 
mined,  is  the  created  world. 


696  FICHTE. 

of  this  difficulty  is  that  it  is  Activity  which  determines  Passivity, 
and  reciprocally.  Let  us  suppose  the  absolute  reality  as  a 
Sphere  ;  this  is  entirely  in  the  Ego,  and  has  a  certain  quantity. 
Every  quantity  less  than  this  totality,  will,  of  necessity,  be  nega 
tion,  passivity.  In  order  that  a  less  quantity  should  be  com 
pared  with  the  totality  and  so  opposed  to  it,  it  is  necessary  there 
should  be  some  relation  between  them  ;  and  this  is  in  the  idea 
of  divisibility.  In  the  absolute  totality,  as  such,  there  are  no 
parts ;  but  this  totality  may  be  compared  with  parts  and  distin 
guished  from  it.  Passivity  is  therefore  a  determinate  quantity 
of  Activity,  a  quantity  compared  with  the  totality.  In  regard  to 
the  Ego  as  absolute,  the  Ego  as  limited  is  passive ;  in  the  rela 
tion  of  Ego  as  limited  to  the  Non-Ego,  the  Ego  is  active  and  the 
Non-Ego  passive.  And  thus  are  activity  and  passivity  recipro 
cally  determined. 

The  result  of  this  and  much  more  reasoning,  is  the  hypothesis 
that  when  mankind  attribute  to  objects  a  real  existence  they  are 
correct ;  but  they  are  incorrect  in  supposing  that  the  Object  is 
independent  of  the  Subject :  it  is  identical  with  the  Subject.  The 
common-sense  belief  is  therefore  correct  enough.  It  is  when  we 
would  rise  above  this  belief,  and  endeavor  to  philosophize,  that 
we  fall  into  error.  All  the  philosophers  have  erred,  not  in  as 
suming  the  reality  of  objects,  but  in  assuming  the  reality  of  two 
distinct,  disparate  existences,  Matter  and  Mind ;  whereas  we  have 
seen  that  there  is  only  one  existence,  having  the  twofold  aspect 
of  Object  and  Subject. 

Nor  is  the  distinction  unimportant.  If  Dualism  be  accepted, 
we  have  no  refuge  from  Skepticism.  If  we  are  to  believe  that 
Dinge  an  sick  exist — that  Matter  exists  independently  of  Mind, 
exists  per  se — then  are  we  doomed  to  admit  only  a  knowledge  of 
phenomena  as  possible.  The  things  in  themselves  we  can  never 
know  ;  we  can  only  know  their  effects  upon  us.  Our  knowledge 
is  relative,  and  never  can  embrace  the  absolute  truth. 

But  if  Idealism  be  accepted,  the  ordinary  belief  of  men  is  not 
only  respected  but  confirmed  ;  for  this  belief  is  that  we  do  know 


697 

things  in  themselves,  and  that  the  things  we  know  do  exist.  The 
Dualist  forces  you  to  admit  that  you  cannot  know  things  in 
themselves  ;  and  that  your  belief  in  their  existence  is  merely  the 
postulate  of  your  Reason,  and  is  not  immediately  given  in  the 
facts  of  Consciousness.  The  Idealist,  on  the  contrary,  gives  you 
an  immediate  knowledge  of  things  in  themselves,  consequently 
opens  to  you  the  domain  of  absolute  Truth.  He  only  differs 
from  you  in  saying  that  these  things,  which  you  immediately 
know,  are  part  and  parcel  of  yourself;  and  it  is  because  you  and. 
they  are  indissolubly  united,  that  immediate  knowledge  is  pos 
sible. 

"  But,"  says  Realism,  "  I  know  that  objects  are  altogether  in 
dependent  of  me.  I  did  not  create  them.  I  found  them  there, 
out  of  me.  The  proof  of  this  is  that  if,  after  looking  at  a  tree,  I 
turn  away,  or  shut  my  eyes,  the  image  of  the  tree  is  annihilated, 
but  the  tree  itself  remains." 

"  No,"  answers  Idealism,  "  the  tree  itself  does  not  remain  :  for 
the  tree  is  but  a  phenomenon,  or  collection  of  phenomena  ; — the 
tree  is  a  Perception,  and  all  perceptions  are  subjective.  You 
suppose  that  every  one  must  admit  that  our  perceptions  are  dif 
ferent  from  their  objects.  But  are  they  different  ?  that  is  pre 
cisely  the  question  at  issue ;  and  you  assume  it.  Let  us  be 
cautious.  What  is  an  object — a  tree  for  instance  ?  Tell  me, 
what  does  your  Consciousness  inform  you  of?  Let  me  hear 
the  fact,  the  whole  fact,  and  no  inference  from  the  fact.  Is  not 
the  object  (tree)  one  and  the  same  as  your  perception  (tree)  ?  Is 
not  the  tree  a  mere  name  for  your  perception  ?  Does  not  your 
Consciousness  distinctly  tell  you  that  the  Form,  Color,  Solidity, 
arid  Smell  of  the  Tree  are  in  you — are  affections  of  your  Sub 
ject  ?" 

"  I  admit  that,"  replies  Realism  ;  "  but  although  these  are  in 
me,  they  are  caused  by  something  out  of  me.  Consciousness  tells 
me  that  very  plainly." 

"Does  it  so?  I  tell  you  that  Consciousness  has  no  such 
power.  It  can  tell  you  of  its  own  changes;  it  cannot  trans- 

30 


698  FICHTE. 

cend  itself  to  tell  you  any  thing  about  that  which  causes  its 
changes." 

"  But  I  am  irresistibly  compelled  to  believe,"  says  Realism, 
"  that  there  are  things  which  exist  out  of  me  ;  and  this  belief,  be 
cause  irresistible,  is  true." 

"  Stop !  you  run  on  too  fast,"  replies  Idealism  ;  "  your  belief  is 
not  what  you  describe  it.  You  are  not  irresistibly  compelled  to 
believe  that  things  exist,  which  said  things  lie  underneath  all 
their  appearances,  and  must  ever  remain  unknown.  This  is  no 
instinctive  belief;  it  is  a  philosophic  inference.  Your  belief 
simply  is,  that  certain  things,  colored,  odorous,  extended,  sapid, 
and  solid,  exist ;  and  so  they  do.  But  you  infer  that  they  exist 
out  of  you?  Rash  inference.  Have  you  not  admitted  that 
color,  odor,  taste,  extension,  etc.,  are  but  modifications  of  your 
sentient  being ;  and  if  they  exist  in  you,  how  can  they  exist  out 
of  you  ?  They  do  not :  they  seem  to  do  so  by  a  law  of  the 
mind  which  gives  objectivity  to  our  sensations."* 

"Try  your  utmost  to  conceive  an  object  as  any  thing  more 
than  a  synthesis  of  perceptions.  You  cannot.  You  may  infer, 
indeed,  that  a  substratum  for  all  phenomena  exists,  although  un 
known,  unknowable.  But  on  what  is  your  inference  grounded  ? 
On  the  impossibility  of  conceiving  the  existence  of  qualities — 
extension,  color,  etc. — apart  from  some  substance  of  which  they 
are  qualities.  This  impossibility  is  a  figment.  The  qualities 
have  no  need  of  an  objective  substratum,  because  they  have  a 
subjective  substratum  :  they  are  the  modifications  of  a  sensitive 
subject ;  and  the  synthesis  of  these  modifications  is  the  only  sub 
stratum  of  which  they  stand  in  need.  This  may  be  proved  in 
another  way.  The  qualities  of  objects,  it  is  universally  admitted, 
are  but  modifications  of  the  subject:  these  qualities  are  attrib 
uted  to  external  objects ;  they  are  dependent  upon  the  subject 


*  The  difference  between  Berkeley  and  Fichte  is  apparent  here.  The 
former  said  that  the  objects  did  exist  independent  of  the  Ego,  but  did  not 
exist  independent  of  the  universal  Mind.  Fichte's  Idealism  was  Egoism; 
Berkeley's  was  a  theological  Idealism. 


699 

for  their  existence ;  and  yet,  to  account  for  their  existence,  it  is 
asserted  that  some  unknown  external  something  must  exist  as  a 
substance  in  which  they  must  inhere.  Now,  it  is  apparent  that, 
inasmuch  as  these  qualities  are  subjective  and  dependent  upon 
the  subject  for  their  existence,  there  can  be  no  necessity  for  an 
object  iii  which  they  must  inhere."  Thus  may  Idealism  defend 
itself  against  Realism. 

We  have  made  ourselves  the  advocates  of  Fichte's  principles, 
but  the  reader  will  not  mistake  us  for  disciples  of  Fichte.  In 
the  exposition  of  his  system  we  have,  for  obvious  reasons,  gen 
erally  avoided  his  own  manner,  which  is  too  abstract  to  be 
followed  without  difficulty,  and  we  have  endeavored  to  state  his 
ideas  in  our  own  way.  To  exhibit  Fichte's  Idealism  is,  strictly 
speaking,  all  that  our  plan  imposes  on  us  ;  but  although  his  phil 
osophical  doctrines  are  all  founded  upon  it,  and  although  it  was 
the  doctrine  which  made  an  epoch  in  German  Philosophy,  con 
sequently  the  doctrine  which  entitles  him  to  a  place  in  this  His 
tory,  nevertheless  we  should  be  doing  him  injustice  and  mislead 
ing  our  readers,  if  we  did  not  give  some  glimpse  of  his  moral 
system.  The  Idealism,  as  Idealism,  seems  little  better  than  an 
ingenious  paradox :  only  when  we  see  it  applied  can  we  regard 
it  as  serious.* 

§  Y.  APPLICATION  OF  FICHTE'S  IDEALISM. 

The  Ego  is  essentially  an  Activity ;  consequently  free.  But 
this  free  activity  would  lose  itself  in  infinity,  and  would  remain 
without  consciousness — in  fact,  without  existence — did  it  not 

*  Those  who  are  curious  to  see  what  he  himself  makes  of  his  system,  are 
referred  to  his  Wissenschaftslehre  (of  which  a  French  translation  by  M.  Paul 
Grimblot  exists,  under  the  title  of  Doctrine  de  la  Science},  or,  as  a  more  pop 
ular  exposition,  to  his  Bestimmung  des  Mensclien,  a  French  translation  of  which 
has  been  published  by  M.  Barchou  de  Penhoen,  under  the  title  Destination 
de  VHomme,  which,  from  the  character  and  learning  of  the  translator,  is,  we 
have  no  doubt,  an  excellent  version.  An  English  translation  has  also  been 
made  by  Mrs.  Percy  Sinnett,  which  can  be  recommended.  Fichte's  work, 
The  Nature  of  the  Scholar,  has  also  recently  appeared,  by  Mr.  W.  Smith, 
who  has  also  translated  the  Characteristics  of  tht  Present  Aye. 


700  FICHTE. 

encounter  some  resistance.  In  the  effort  to  vanquish  this  resist 
ance,  it  exerts  its  will,  becomes  conscious  of  something  not  itself, 
and  thereby  becomes  conscious  of  itself.  But  resistance  limits 
freedom,  and  as  an  Activity  the  Ego  is  essentially  free — it  is 
irresistibly  impelled  to  enjoy  perfect  freedom.  This  expansive 
force,  which  impels  the  Ego  to  realize  itself  by  complete  develop 
ment,  and  thereby  assimilating  the  Non-Ego — this  force,  in  as 
far  as  it  is  not  realized,  is  the  aim  of  man's  existence — it  is  his  duty. 

Here  a  difference  from  the  ordinary  schools  of  morality  begins 
to  show  itself.  Duty  is  not  a  moral  obligation  which  we  are  free  to 
acknowledge  or  reject ;  it  is  a  pulse  beating  in  the  very  heart  of 
man — a  power  inseparable  from  his  constitution  ;  and  according 
to  its  fulfilment  is  the  man  complete. 

The  world  does  not  exist  because  we  imagine  it,  but  because 
we  believe  it.  Let  all  reality  be  swept  away  by  skepticism — we 
are  not  affected.  Man  is  impelled  by  his  very  nature  to  realize 
his  existence  by  his  acts.  Our  destination  is  not  thought,  but 
action.  Man  is  not  born  to  brood  over  his  thoughts,  but  to  man 
ifest  them — to  give  them  existence.  There  is  a  moral  world 
within  ;  our  mission  is  to  transport  it  ivithout.  By  this  we  cre 
ate  the  world.  For  what  is  the  condition  of  existence  ? — what 
determines  Thought  to  be?  Simply  that  it  should  realize  itself 
as  an  object.  The  Ego  as  simple  Subject  does  not  exist ;  it  has 
only  a  potentiality  of  existence.  To  exist,  it  must  realize  itself 
and  become  Subject- Object. 

Mark  the  consequence :  Knowing  that  we  carry  within  us  the 
moral  world,  and  that  upon  ourselves  alone  depends  the  attain 
ment  of  so  sublime  an  object  as  the  manifestation  of  this  world, 
it  is  to  ourselves  alone  that  we  must  direct  our  attention.  This 
realization  of  the  world,  what  is  it  but  the  complete  development 
of  ourselves?  If  we  would  be,  therefore — if  we  would  enjoy  the 
realities  of  existence,  we  must  develop  ourselves  in  the  attempt 
to  incessantly  realize  the  beautiful,  the  useful,  and  the  good. 
Man  is  commanded  to  be  moral  by  the  imperious  necessity  of 
his  own  nature.  To  be  virtuous  is  not  to  obey  some  external 


701 

law,  but  to  fulfil  an  internal  law  :  this  obedience  is  not  slavery, 
but  freedom ;  it  is  not  sacrificing  one  particle  of  freedom  to  any 
other  power,  but  wholly  and  truly  realizing  the  power  within  us 
of  being  free. 

Life  is  a  combat.  The  free  spirit  of  man,  inasmuch  as  it  is 
finite,  is  limited,  imperfect;  but  it  incessantly  struggles  to  subju 
gate  that  which  opposes  it — it  tends  incessantly  towards  infin 
ity.  Defeated  in  his  hopes,  he  is  sometimes  discouraged,  but 
this  lasts  not  long.  There  is  a  well-spring  of  energy  forever 
vital  in  the  heart  of  man ;  an  ideal  is  forever  shining  before 
him,  and  that  he  must  attain. 

Man  knows  himself  to  be  free ;  knows  also  that  his  fellow- 
men  are  free ;  and  therefore  the  duty  of  each  is  to  treat  the 
others  as  beings  who  have  the  same  aim  as  himself.  Individual 
liberty  is  therefore  the  principle  of  all  government:  from  it 
Fichte  deduces  his  political  system. 

And  what  says  Fichte  respecting  God  ?  He  was,  as  we  know, 
accused  of  atheism.  Let  us  hear  his  real  opinions.  In  his  an 
swer  to  that  charge  we  have  an  abstruse,  but  at  the  same  time 
positive,  exposition  of  his  views.*  God  created  the  world  out  of 
an  inert  mass  of  matter ;  and  from  the  evidence  of  design  in  this 
created  world  we  infer  an  intelligent  designer.  This  is  the  com 
mon  view  ;  but  Fichte  could  not  accept  it.  In  the  first  place, 
what  we  call  the  World  is  but  the  incarnation  of  our  Duty 
(unsere  Welt  ist  das  versinnlichte  Material  unserer  Pflicht).  It 
is  the  objective  existence  of  the  Ego :  we  are,  so  to  speak,  the 
creators  of  it.  Such  a  statement  looks  very  like  atheism,  espe 
cially  when  Fichte's  system  is  not  clearly  apprehended :  it  is, 
however,  at  the  worst,  only  Acosmism. 

Nor  could  Fichte  accept  the  evidence  of  Design,  because  De 
sign  is  a  mere  conclusion  of  the  understanding,  applicable  only 
to  finite,  transient  things,  wholly  inapplicable  to  the  infinite : 
Design  itself  is  but  a  subjective  notion.f 

*  Geriehtliche   Verantwortungssvlinften  gegen  die  Anklage  de»  Atheismus. 
t  Ibid.,  p.  4S. 


702  FICHTE. 

"  God,"  says  Fichte,  "  must  be  believed  in,  not  inferred.  Faith 
is  the  ground  of  all  conviction,  scientific  or  moral.  Why  do 
you  believe  in  the  existence  of  the  world  ?  it  is  nothing  more 
than  the  incarnation  of  that  which  you  carry  within  you,  yet 
you  believe  in  it.  In  the  same  way  God  exists  in  your  Con 
sciousness,  and  you  believe  in  him.  He  is  the  Moral  Order 
(moralische  Ordnung]  of  the  world  :  as  such  we  can  know  him, 
and  only  as  such.  For  if  we  attempt  to  attribute  to  him  Intel 
ligence  or  Personality,  we  at  once  necessarily  fall  into  anthropo 
morphism.  God  is  infinite :  therefore  beyond  the  reach  of  our 
science,  which  can  only  embrace  the  finite,  but  not  beyond  our 
faith."* 

By  our  efforts  to  fulfil  our  Duty,  and  thus  to  realize  the  Good 
and  Beautiful,  we  are  tending  towards  God,  we  live  in  some  meas 
ure  the  life  of  God.  True  religion  is  therefore  the  realization 
of  universal  reason.  If  we  were  all  perfectly  free,  we  should  be 
one ;  for  there  is  but  one  Liberty.  If  we  had  all  the  same  con 
victions,  the  law  of  each  would  be  the  law  of  all,  since  all  would 
have  but  one  Will.  To  this  we  aspire ;  to  this  Humanity  is 
tending. 

The  germ  of  mysticism  which  lies  in  this  doctrine  was  fully 
developed  by  some  of  Fichte's  successors,  although  he  himself 
had  particularly  guarded  against  such  an  interpretation,  and  dis 
tinguishes  himself  from  the  mystics. 

Let  us  now  pass  to  Fichte's  Philosophy  of  History. 

The  historian  only  accomplishes  half  of  the  required  task. 
He  narrates  the  events  of  an  epoch,  in  their  order  of  occurrence, 
and  in  the  form  of  their  occurrence ;  but  he  cannot  be  assured 
that  he  has  not  omitted  some  of  these  events,  or  that  he  has 
given  them  their  due  position  and  significance.  The  philosopher 
must  complete  this  incomplete  method.  He  must  form  some 
idea  of  the  epoch — an  Idea  a  priori,  independent  of  experience. 
He  must  then  exhibit  this  Idea  always  dominant  throughout  the 

*  Sittenlehre,  pp.  189,  194. 


APPLICATION   OF   PICHTE's    IDEALISM.  703 

epoch — and  manifesting  itself  in  all  the  multiplicity  of  facts, 
which  are  but  its  incarnation.  What  is  the  world  but  an  incar 
nation  of  the  Ego  ?  What  is  an  epoch  but  an  incarnation  of  an 
Idea? 

Every  epoch  has  therefore  its  pre-existent  Idea.  And  this 
Idea  will  be  determined  by  the  Ideas  of  the  epochs  which  have 
preceded  it ;  and  will  determine  those  which  succeed  it.  Hence 
we  conclude  that  the  evolutions  of  Ideas — or  the  History  of  the 
World — is  accomplished  on  a  certain  plan.  The  philosopher 
must  conceive  this  plan  in  its  totality,  that  he  may  from  it 
deduce  the  Ideas  of  the  principal  epochs  in  the  history  of  Hu 
manity,  not  only  as  past,  but  as  future. 

The  question  first  to  be  settled  is  this :  What  is  the  ground- 
plan  of  the  world?  or,  in  other  words,  according  to  Fichte, 
What  is  the  fundamental  Idea  which  Humanity  has  to  realize  ? 

The  answer  is :  The  Idea  of  Duty.  This,  in  its  concrete  ex 
pression,  is :  To  fix  the  relations  of  man  to  man  in  such  order 
that  the  perfect  liberty  of  each  be  compatible  with  the  liberty  of 
the  whole. 

History  may  thus  be  divided  into  two  principal  epochs.  The 
one,  in  which  man  has  not  established  the  social  relations  on  the 
basis  of  reason.  The  other,  in  which  he  has  established  them, 
and  knows  that  he  has  done  so. 

That  Humanity  exists  but  for  the  successive  and  constant 
realization  of  the  dictates  of  reason  is  easily  proved.  But  some 
times  Humanity  has  knowledge  of  what  it  performs,  and  why  it 
performs  it ;  sometimes  it  obeys  but  a  blind  impulse.  In  this 
second  case,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  first  epochs  of  the  terrestrial 
existence  of  Humanity,  Reason,  although  not  manifesting  itself 
distinctly,  consciously,  nevertheless  exists.  It  manifests  itself  as 
an  instinct,  and  appears  under  the  form  of  a  natural  law ;  it 
manifests  itself  in  the  intelligence  only  as  a  vague  and  obscure 
sentiment.  Reason,  on  the  contrary,  no  sooner  manifests  itself 
as  Reason,  than  it  is  gifted  with  consciousness  of  itself  and  its 
acts.  This  constitutes  the  second  epoch. 


704:  FICHTE. 

But  Humanity  does  not  pass  at  once  from  the  first  to  the 
second  epoch.  At  first  Reason  only  manifests  itself  in  a  few 
men,  the  Great  Men  of  their  age,  who  thereby  acquire  authority. 
They  are  the  instructors  of  their  age;  their  mission  is  to  elevate 
the  mass  up  to  themselves.  Thus  Instinct  diminishes,  and  Rea 
son  supervenes.  Science  appears.  Morality  becomes  a  science. 
The  relations  of  man  to  man  become  more  and  more  fixed  in 
accordance  with  the  dictates  of  reason. 

The  entire  life  of  Humanity  has  five  periods.  I.  The  domina 
tion  of  Instinct  over  Reason  :  this  is  the  primitive  age.  II.  The 
general  Instinct  gives  place  to  an  external  dominant  Authority  : 
this  is  the  age  of  doctrines  unable  to  convince,  and  employing 
force  to  produce  a  blind  belief,  claiming  unlimited  obedience : 
this  is  the  period  in  which  Evil  arises.  III.  The  Authority, 
dominant  in  the  preceding  epoch,  but  constantly  attacked  by 
Reason,  becomes  weak  and  wavering :  this  is  the  epoch  of  skep 
ticism  and  licentiousness.  IV.  Reason  becomes  conscious  of  it 
self;  truth  makes  itself  known ;  the  science  of  Reason  develops 
itself:  this  is  the  beginning  of  that  perfection  which  Humanity 
is  destined  to  attain.  V.  The  science  of  Reason  is  applied ; 
Humanity  fashions  itself  after  the  ideal  standard  of  Reason : 
this  is  the  epoch  of  Art,  the  last  term  in  the  history  of  our 
species. 

This  brief  outline  of  Fichte's  system  will  be  sufficient  to  assign 
him  his  place  in  the  long  line  of  European  thinkers  who  have 
worked,  with  such  perseverance,  the  glittering  mine  of  Meta 
physics;  and  sufficient  also,  we  trust,  not  only  to  stimulate  the 
curiosity  of  such  readers  whose  studies  lie  in  that  direction,  but 
also  to  furnish  them  with  a  general  view  capable  of  rendering 
the  details  intelligible. 


LIFE    OF    SCHELLING.  705 


CHAPTER    II. 
SCHELLING. 

§  I.  LIFE  OF  SCHELLING. 

FREDERICK  WILLIAM  JOSEPH  SCHELLING  was  born  in  Leon- 
berg,  in  Wurtemberg,  27th  of  January,  1775.  At  the  Uni 
versity  in  Tubingen  he  first  knew  Hegel,  and  their  friendship 
was  enduring  and  productive.  At  Leipzig  he  studied  Medicine 
and  Philosophy ;  in  the  latter  he  became  the  pupil  of  Fichte. 
He  afterwards  filled  Fichte's  vacant  chair  at  Jena,  where  he 
lectured  with  immense  success.  In  1807  he  was  made  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Munich  Academy  of  Sciences.  And  in  Bavaria, 
honored,  rewarded,  and  ennobled,  he  remained  till  1842,  when 
the  King  of  Prussia  seduced  him  to  Berlin ;  and  there,  in  the 
chair  once  held  by  Hegel,  he  opened  a  series  of  lectures,  in 
which  he  was  to  give  the  fruit  of  a  life's  meditation. 

His  appearance  at  Berlin  was  the  signal  for  violent  polemics. 
The  Hegelians  were  all  up  in  arms.  Pamphlets,  full  of  person 
alities  and  dialectics,  were  launched  against  Schelling,  apparent 
ly  without  much  effect.  His  foes  at  length  grew  weary  of 
screaming;  and  he  continued  quietly  to  lecture.  In  1845,  the 
writer  of  this  work  had  the  gratification  not  only  of  hearing 
him  lecture  on  Mythology  to  large  audiences,  but  also  of  hearing 
him  in  the  expansiveness  of  private  conversation  pour  forth  his 
stores  of  varied  knowledge.  His  intellectual  vigor  was  such, 
that  although  seventy  summers  had  whitened  his  hair,  he  seemed 
to  have  still  a  long  lease  of  life ;  and  indeed  he  continued  nine 
years  longer  to  inspire  the  respect  of  all  who  knew  him.  He 
died  on  the  20th  August,  1854. 


706  SC  HELLING. 

§  II.  SCHELLING'S  DOCTRINES. 

Schelling  is  often  styled  the  German  Plato.  In  such  parallels 
there  is  always  some  truth  amidst  much  error.  Schelling's  works 
unquestionably  exhibit  great  power  of  vivid  imagination  con 
joined  with  subtle  dialectics ;  if  on  this  ground  he  is  to  be  styled 
a  Plato,  then  are  there  hundreds  to  share  that  title  with  him. 
His  doctrines  have  little  resemblance  to  those  of  his  supposed 
prototype.  Curiously  enough,  his  head  was  marvellously  like 
that  of  Socrates ;  not  so  ugly,  but  still  very  like  it  in  general 
character. 

Schelling  may  be  regarded  as  having  been  the  systematizer  of 
a  tendency,  always  manifesting  itself,  but  then  in  full  vigor  in 
Germany — the  tendency  towards  Pantheism.  This  tendency  is 
not  merely  the  offspring  of  Mysticism.  It  may  be  recognized  in 
the  clear  Goethe,  no  less  than  in  the  mystical  Novalis.  In  some 
way  or  other,  Pantheism  seems  the  natural  issue  of  almost  every 
Philosophy  of  Religion,  when  rigorously  carried  out;  but  Ger 
many,  above  all  European  countries,  has,  both  in  poetry  and 
speculation,  the  most  constantly  reproduced  it.  Her  poets,  her 
artists,  her  musicians,  and  her  thinkers,  have  been  more  or  less 
Pantheists.  Schelling's  attempt,  therefore,  to  give  Pantheism  a 
scientific  basis,  could  not  but  meet  with  hearty  approbation. 

We  may  here  once  more  notice  the  similarity,  in  historical 
position,  of  the  modern  German  speculations  to  those  of  the 
Alexandrian  Schools.  In  both,  the  incapacity  of  Reason  to 
solve  the  problems  of  Philosophy  is  openly  proclaimed  ;  in  both, 
some  higher  faculty  is  called  in  to  solve  them.  Plotinus  called 
this  faculty  Ecstasy.  Schelling  called  it  the  Intellectual  In 
tuition.  The  Ecstasy  was  not  supposed  to  be  a  faculty  possessed 
by  all  men,  and  at  all  times ;  it  was  only  possessed  by  the  few, 
and  by  them  but  sometimes.  The  Intellectual  Intuition  was  not 
supposed  to  be  a  faculty  common  to  all  men  ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
was  held  as  the  endowment  only  of  a  few  of  the  privileged :  it 
was  the  faculty  for  philosophizing.  Schelling  expresses  his  dis- 


TOT 

dain  for  those  who  talk  about  not  comprehending  the  highest 
truths  of  Philosophy.  "Really,"  he  exclaims,  "one  sees  not 
wherefore  Philosophy  should  pay  any  attention  whatever  to  In 
capacity.  It  is  better  rather  that  we  should  isolate  Philosophy 
from  all  the  ordinary  routes,  and  keep  it  so  separated  from  ordi 
nary  knowledge,  that  none  of  these  routes  should  lead  to  it. 
Philosophy  commences  where  ordinary  knowledge  terminates."* 
The  highest  truths  of  science  cannot  be  proved,  they  must  be 
apprehended ;  for  those  who  cannot  apprehend  them,  there  is 
nothing  but  pity ;  argument  is  useless. 

After  this,  were  we  to  call  Schelling  the  German  Plotinus,  we 
should  perhaps  be  nearer  the  truth  than  in  calling  him  the  Ger 
man  Plato.  But  it  was  for  the  sake  of  no  such  idle  parallel 
that  we  compared  the  fundamental  positions  of  each.  Our  ob 
ject  was  to  "  point  a  moral,"  and  to  show  how  the  same  forms 
of  error  reappear  in  history,  and  how  the  labors  of  so  many 
centuries  have  not  advanced  the  human  mind  in  this  direction 
one  single  step. 

The  first  point  to  be  established  is  the  nature  of  Schelling's 
improvement  upon  Fichte  :  the  relation  in  which  the  two  doc 
trines  stand  to  each  other. 

Fichte's  Idealism  was  purely  subjective  Idealism.  The  Object 
had  indeed  reality,  but  was  solely  dependent  upon  the  Subject. 
Endeavor  as  we  might,  we  could  never  separate  the  Object  from 
the  Subject,  we  could  never  conceive  a  possible  mode  of  exist 
ence  without  being  forced  to  identify  with  it  a  Subject.  Indeed 
the  very  conception  itself  is  but  an  act  of  the  Subject.  Admit 
ting  that  we  are  forced  by  the  laws  of  our  mental  constitution  to 
postulate  an  unknown  something,  a  Noumenon,  as  the  substance 
in  which  all  phenomena  inhere,  what,  after  all,  is  this  postulate  ? 
It  is  an  act  of  the  Mind  ;  it  is  wholly  subjective  ;  the  necessity 
for  the  postulate  is  a  mental  necessity.  The  Non-Ego  therefore 
is  the  product  of  the  Ego. 

*  Neue  Zeitsckrift.fur  Speculative  Physik,  ii.  34. 


708  SCHELLING. 

There  is  subtle  reasoning  in  the  above  ;  nay  more,  it  contains 
a  principle  which  is  irrefutable  :  the  principle  of  the  identity  of 
Object  and  Subject  in  knowledge.*  This  Schelling  adopted. 
Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  such  an  admission,  the  nullity  of  the  ex 
ternal  world  was  too  violent  and  repulsive  a  conclusion  to  be 
long  maintained ;  and  it  was  necessary  to  see  if  the  principle  of 
identity  might  not  be  preserved,  without  forcing  such  a  con 
clusion. 

The  existence  of  the  objective  world  is  as  firmly  believed  in  as 
the  existence  of  the  subjective  :  they  are,  indeed,  both  given  in 
the  same  act.  We  cannot  be  conscious  of  our  own  existence 
without  at  the  same  time  inseparably  connecting  it  with  some 
other  existence  from  which  we  distinguished  ourselves.  So  in 
like  manner  we  cannot  be  aware  of  the  existence  of  any  thing 
out  of  ourselves  without  at  the  same  time  inseparably  connecting 
with  it  a  consciousness  of  ourselves.  Hence  we  conclude  that 
both  exist ;  not  indeed  separately,  not  independently  of  each 
other,  but  identified  in  some  higher  power.  Fichte  said  that  the 
Non-Ego  was  created  by  the  Ego.  Schelling  said  that  the  two 
were  equally  real,  and  .that  both  were  identified  in  the  Absolute. 

Knowledge  must  be  knowledge  of  something.  Hence  Knowl 
edge  implies  the  correlate  of  Being.  Knowledge  without  an 
Object  known,  is  but  an  empty  form.  But  Knowledge  and  Be 
ing  are  correlates  ;  they  are  not  separable  ;  they  are  identified. 
It  is  as  impossible  to  conceive  an  Object  known  without  a  Sub 
ject  knowing,  as  it  is  to  conceive  a  Subject  knowing  without  an 
Object  known. 

Nature  is  Spirit  visible  ;  Spirit  is  invisible  Nature  :f  the  abso 
lute  Ideal  is  at  the  same  time  the  absolute  Real. 


*  This  is  the  stronghold  of  Idealism,  and  we  consider  it  impregnable,  so 
long  as  men  reason  on  the  implied  assumption,  that  whatever  is  true  in 
human  knowledge  is  equally  true  (i.  e.  actually  so  co-ordinated)  in  fact; 
that  as  things  appear  to  us  so  they  are  per  se.  And  yet  without  this  assump 
tion  Philosophy  is  impossible. 

t  Our  readers  will  recognize  here  a  favorite  saying  of  Coleridge,  many 


SCHELLING'S   DOCTRINES.  709 

Hence  Philosophy  has  two  primary  problems  to  solve.  In 
the  Transcendental  Philosophy  the  problem  is  to  construct  Na 
ture  from  Intelligence — the  Object  from  the  Subject.  In  the 
Philosophy  of  Nature  the  problem  is  to  construct  Intelligence 
from  Nature — the  Subject  from  the  Object.*  And  how  are  we 
to  construct  one  from  the  other  ?  Fichte  has  taught  us  to  do  so 
by  the  principle  of  the  identity  of  Subject  and  Object,  whereby 
the  productivity  and  the  product  are  in  constant  opposition,  yet 
always  one.  The  productivity  (Thatigkeif)  is  the  activity  in  act; 
it  is  the  force  which  develops  itself  into  all  things.  The  pro 
duct  is  the  activity  arrested  and  solidified  into  a  fact ;  but  it  is 
always  ready  to  pass  again  into  activity.  And  thus  the  world 
is  but  a  balancing  of  contending  powers  within  the  sphere  of  the 
Absolute. 

In  what,  then,  does  Schelling  differ  from  Fichte,  since  both 
assert  that  the  product  (Object)  is  but  the  arrested  activity  of 
the  Ego  ?  In  this  :  the  Ego  in  Fichte's  system  is  a  finite  Ego — 
it  is  the  human  soul.  The  Ego  in  Schelling's  system  is  the  Ab 
solute — the  Infinite — the  All,  which  Spinoza  called  Substance  ; 
and  this  Absolute  manifests  itself  in  two  forms  :  in  the  form  of 
the  Ego  and  in  the  form  of  the  Non-Ego — as  Nature  and  as 
Mind. 

The  Ego  produces  the  Non-Ego,  but  not  by  its  own  force,  not 
out  of  its  own  nature ;  it  is  the  universal  Nature  which  works 
within  us  and  which  produces  from  out  of  us ;  it  is  universal 
Nature  which  here  in  us  is  conscious  of  itself.  The  souls  of  men 
are  but  the  innumerable  individual  eyes  with  which  the  Infinite 
World-Spirit  beholds  himself. 

"What  is  the  Ego  ?  It  is  one  and  the  same  with  the  act  which 
renders  it  an  Object  to  itself.  When  I  say  "  myself" — when  I 
form  a  conception  of  my  Ego,  what  is  that  but  the  Ego  making 


of  whose  remarks,  now  become  famous,  are  almost  verbatim  from  Schelling 
and  the  two  Schlegels. 

*  System  des  Transcendentalen  Idealismus,  p.  7. 


710 


SCHELLING. 


itself  an  Object  ?  Consciousness  therefore  may  be  defined  the 
objectivity  of  the  Ego.  Very  well ;  now  apply  this  to  the  Abso 
lute.  He,  too,  must  be  conscious  of  himself,  and  for  that  he 
must  realize  himself  objectively.  We  can  now  understand 
Schelling  when  he  says,  "  The  blind  and  unconscious  products 
of  Nature  are  nothing  but  unsuccessful  attempts  of  Nature  to 
make  itself  an  Object  (sick  selbst  zu  reflectireri)  ;  the  so-called 
dead  Nature  is  but  an  unripe  Intelligence.  The  acme  of  its 
efforts — that  is,  for  Nature  completely  to  objectize  itself — is  at 
tained  through  the  highest  and  ultimate  degree  of  reflection  in 
Man — or  what  we  call  Reason.  Here  Nature  returns  into  itself, 
and  reveals  its  identity  with  that  which  in  us  is  known  as  the 
Object  and  Subject."* 

The  function  of  Reason  is  elsewhere  more  distinctly  described 
as  the  total  indifference-point  of  the  subjective  and  objective. 
The  Absolute  he  represents  by  the  symbol  of  the  magnet.  Thus, 
as  it  is  the  same  principle  which  divides  itself  in  the  magnet  into 
the  north  and  south  poles,  the  centre  of  which  is  the  indifference- 
point,  so  in  like  manner  does  the  Absolute  divide  itself  into  the 
Real  and  Ideal,  and  holds  itself  in  this  separation  as  absolute  in 
difference.!  And  as  in  the  magnet  every  point  is  itself  a  magnet, 
having  a  North  pole,  a  South  pole,  and  a  point  of  indifference, 
so  also  in  the  Universe,  the  individual  varieties  are  but  varieties 
of  the  eternal  One.  Man  is  a  microcosm. 

Reason  is  the  indifference-point.  Whoso  rises  to  it,  rises  to 
the  reality  of  things  (zum  wahren  Ansich),  which  reality  is  pre 
cisely  in  the  indifference  of  Object  and  Subject.  The  basis  of 
Philosophy  is  therefore  the  basis  of  Reason  ;  its  knowledge  is  a 
knowledge  of  things  as  they  are,  i.  e.  as  they  are  in  Reason.^ 

The  spirit  of  Plotinus  revives  in  these  expressions.  We  have 
in  them  the  whole  key-stone  of  the  Alexandrian  School.  The 


*  System  des  Transcendentalen  Idealismus,  p.  5. 

t   Hence   Schelling's   philosophy  is  often  styled  the  Indifference  Phi 
losophy. 

%  Zeitschrift fur  Speculative  PhysiTc,  vol.  ii.  heft  2. 


m 

Intellectual  Intuition  by  which  we  are  to  embrace  the  Absolute, 
is,  as  before  remarked,  but  another  form  of  the  Alexandrian 
Ecstasy.  Schelling  was  well  aware  that  the  Absolute,  the  In 
finite  as  such,  could  not  be  known  under  the  conditions  of  finity, 
cannot  be  known  in  personal  consciousness.  How,  then,  can  it 
be  known  ?  By  some  higher  faculty  which  discerns  the  identity 
of  Object  and  Subject — which  perceives  the  Absolute  as  Abso 
lute,  where  all  difference  is  lost  in  indifference. 

There  are  three  divisions  in  Schelling's  system  :  the  philosophy 
of  Nature,  the  transcendental  philosophy,  and  the  philosophy  of 
the  Absolute. 

His  speculations  with  respect  to  Nature  have  met  with  consid 
erable  applause  in  Germany.  Ingenious  they  certainly  are,  but 
vitiated  in  Method ;  incapable  of  verification.  Those  who  are 
curious  to  see  what  he  makes  of  Nature  are  referred  to  his  Zeit- 
schriftfur  speculative  PhysiJc,  and  his  Ideenzu  einer  Philosophie 
der  Natur.  The  following  examples  will  serve  to  indicate  the 
character  of  his  speculations.* 

Subject  and  Object  being  identical,  the  absolute  Identity  is  the 
absolute  totality  named  Universe.  There  can  be  no  difference 
except  a  quantitative  difference  ;  and  this  is  only  conceivable 
with  respect  to  individual  existences.  For  the  absolute  Identity 
is  quantitative  indifference  both  of  Object  and  Subject,  and  is 
only  under  this  form.  If  we  could  behold  all  that  is,  and  behold 
it  in  its  totality,  we  should  see  a  perfect  quantitative  equality.  It 
is  only  in  the  scission  of  the  Individual  from  the  Infinite  that 
quantitative  difference  takes  place.  This  difference  of  Object  and 
Subject  is  the  ground  of  all  finity ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  quan 
titative  indifference  of  the  two  is  Infinity. 

That  which  determines  any  difference  is  a  Power  (Potenz}, 
and  the  Absolute  is  the  Identity  of  all  Powers  (aller  Potenzen). 

*  The  reader  must  not  complain  if  he  do  not  understand  what  follows  : 
intelligibility  is  not  the  characteristic  of  German  speculation ;  and  we  are 
here  only  translating  Schelling's  words,  without  undertaking  to  enlighten 
their  darkness. 


712  SCHELLING. 

All  matter  is  originally  liquid  ;  weight  is  the  power  through 
which  the  Attractive  and  Expansive  force,  as  the  immanent 
ground  of  the  reality  of  Matter,  operates.  Weight  is  the  first 
Potenz.  The  second  Potenz  is  Light — an  inward  intuition  of 
Nature,  as  weight  is  the  outward  intuition.  Identity  with  Light 
is  Transparency.  Heat  does  not  pertain  to  the  nature  of  Light, 
but  is  simply  a  modus  existendi  of  Light.  Newton's  speculations 
upon  Light  are  treated  with  disdain,  as  a  system  built  upon  il 
logical  conclusions,  a  system  self-contradictory,  and  leading  to 
infinite  absurdities.  Nevertheless  this  absurd  system  has  led 
men  to  many  discoveries :  it  is  the  basis  of  a  gradually  advan 
cing  science,*  while  the  views  of  Schelling  lead  to  nothing  ex 
cept  disputation.  So  with  his  explanation  of  Electricity :  let  us 
suppose  it  exact,  and  we  must  still  acknowledge  it  to  be  useless. 
It  admits  of  no  verification  ;  admits  of  no  application.  It  is  ut 
terly  sterile. 

There  are,  indeed,  general  ideas  in  his  Natur-philosophie, 
which  not  only  approach  the  conceptions  of  positive  science,  but 
have  given  a  powerful  stimulus  to  many  scientific  intellects.  The 
general  law  of  polarity,  for  example,  which  he  makes*  the  law  of 
universal  nature,  is  seen  illustrated  in  physics  and  chemistry  ;  al 
though  the  presumed  relation  between  heat  and  oxygen,  which 
he  makes  the  basis  of  all  atomic  changes,  no  chemist  will  nowa 
days  accept.  When,  in  the  second  part  of  this  treatise,  he  the 
orizes  on  organic  life,  the  result  is  similar — namely,  some  general 
ideas  which  seem  luminous  are  enforced  by  particular  ideas  cer 
tainly  false.  He  maintains  that  vegetation  and  life  are  the  prod 
ucts  of  chemical  action :  the  first  consisting  in  a  continual  deox- 
idation,  the  second  in  a  continual  oxidation ;  as  soon  as  this 
chemical  action  ceases,  death  supervenes,  for  living  beings  exist 
only  in  the  moment  of  becoming.\  He  only  expresses  the  uni 
versally  accepted  idea  of  life  when  he  makes  it  depend  on  the 
incessant  disturbance  and  re-establishment  of  an  equilibrium,];  or, 

*  Von  der   Weltseele,  p.  25,  sq.  f  Ibid.,  p.  181.        I  Ibid.,  p.  284. 


713 

as  De  Blainville  defines  it,  "  a  continual  movement  of  decompo 
sition  and  recomposition." 

All  the  functions  of  Life  are  but  the  iudividualizations  of  one 
common  principle ;  and  all  the  series  of  living  beings  are  but 
the  individualizations  of  one  common  Life  :  this  is  the  Weltseele, 
or  anima  mundi.  The  same  idea  had  been  expressed  by  Goethe, 
and  has  since  been  presented,  under  various  forms,  by  Oken  and 
many  German  naturalists.  The  idea  of  a  dynamic  progression 
in  Nature,  is  also  the  fundamental  idea  in  Hegel's  philosophy. 

Schelling,  in  his  Jahrbucher  der  Medicin,  says  that  Science  is 
only  valuable  in  as  far  as  it  is  speculative  ;  and  by  speculation 
he  means  the  contemplation  of  God  as  He  exists.  Reason,  inas 
much  as  it  affirms  God,  cannot  affirm  any  thing  else,  and  anni 
hilates  itself  at  the  same  time  as  an  individual  existence,  as  any 
thing  out  of  God.  Thought  (das  Denken)  is  not  my  Thought ; 
and  Being  is  not  my  Being ;  for  every  thing  belongs  to  God  or 
the  All.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  Reason  which  we  have ; 
but  only  a  Reason  that  has  us.  If  nothing  exists  out  of  God, 
then  must  the  knowledge  of  God  be  only  the  infinite  knowledge 
which  God  has  of  himself  in  the  eternal  Self-affirmation.  God 
is  not  the  highest,  but  the  only  One.  He  is  not  to  be  viewed  as 
the  summit  or  the  end,  but  as  the  centre,  as  the  All  in  All. 
Consequently  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  being  lifted  up  to  the 
knowledge  of  God ;  but  the  knowledge  is  immediate  recognition. 

If  we  divest  Schilling's  speculations  of  their  dialectical  forms, 
we  shall  arrive  at  the  following  results : 

Idealism  is  one-sided.  Beside  the  Subject  there  must  exist  an 
Object :  the  two  are  identical  in  a  third,  which  is  the  Absolute. 
This  Absolute  is  neither  Ideal  nor  Real — neither  Mind  nor  Na 
ture — but  both.  This  Absolute  is  God.  He  is  the  All  in  All ; 
the  eternal  source  of  all  existence.  He  realizes  himself  under 
one  form,  as  an  objectivity ;  and  under  a  second  form  as  a  sub 
jectivity.  He  becomes  conscious  of  himself  in  man :  and  this 
man,  under  the  highest  form  of  his  existence,  manifests  Reason, 
and  by  this  Reason  God  knows  himself.  Such  are  the  conclu- 


SCHELLING. 

sions  to  which  Schelling's  philosophy  leads  us.     And  now,  we 
ask,  in  what  does  this  philosophy  differ  from  Spinozism  ? 

The  Absolute,  which  Schelling  assumes  as  the  indifference- 
point  of  Subject  and  Object,  is  but  the  tfpwrov  ctyado'v  and  primal 
Nothing,  which  forms  the  first  Hypostasis  of  the  Alexandrian 
Trinity.  The  Absolute,  as  the  Identity  of  Subject  and  Object, 
being  neither  and  yet  both,  is  but  the  Substance  of  Spinoza, 
whose  attributes  are  Extension  and  Thought. 

With  Spinoza  also  he  agreed  in  giving  only  a  phenomenal  re 
ality  to  the  Object  and  Subject.  With  Spinoza  he  agreed  in 
admitting  but  one  existence — the  Absolute. 

But,  although  agreeing  with  Spinoza  in  his  fundamental  posi 
tions,  he  differed  with  him  in  Method,  and  in  the  applications  of 
those  positions.  In  both  differences  the  superiority,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  is  incontestably  due  to  Spinoza. 

Spinoza  deduced  his  system  very  logically  from  one  funda 
mental  assumption,  viz.  that  whatever  was  true  of  ideas  was 
true  of  objects.  This  assumption  itself  was  not  altogether  ar 
bitrary.  It  was  grounded  upon  the  principle  of  certitude,  which 
Descartes  had  brought  forward  as  the  only  principle  which  was 
irrefragable.  Whatever  was  found  to  be  distinct  and  a  priori  in 
Consciousness,  was  irresistibly  true.  Philosophy  was  therefore 
deductive ;  and  Spinoza  deduced  his  system  from  the  principles 
laid  down  by  Descartes. 

Schelling's  Method  was  very  different.  Aware  that  human 
knowledge  was  necessarily  finite,  he  could  not  accept  Spinoza's 
Method,  because  that  would  have  given  him  only  a  knowledge 
of  the  finite,  the  conditioned ;  and  such  knowledge,  it  was  ad 
mitted,  led  to  skepticism.  He  was  forced  to  assume  another 
faculty  of  knowing  the  truth,  and  this  was  the  Intellectual  Intu 
ition.  Reason  which  could  know  the  Absolute,  was  only  possible 
by  transcending  Consciousness  and  sinking  into  the  Absolute. 
As  Knowledge  and  Being  were  Identical,  to  know  the  Infinite, 
we  must  be  the  Infinite,  *.  e.  must  lose  our  individuality  in  the 
universal. 


LIFE   OF   HEGEL.  715 

Consciousness,  then,  which  had  for  so  long  formed  the  basis 
of  all  Philosophy,  was  thrown  over  by  Schelling,  as  incompetent 
to  solve  any  of  its  problems.  Consciousness  was  no  ground  of 
certitude.  Reason  was  the  organ  of  Philosophy,  and  Reason  was 
impersonal.  The  Identity  of  Being  and  Knowing  took  the 
place  of  Consciousness,  and  became  the  basis  of  all  speculation. 
We  shall  see  to  what  it  led  in  Hegel. 

Our  notice  of  Schelling  has  necessarily  been  brief,  not  because 
he  merited  no  greater  space,  but  because  to  have  entered  into 
details  with  any  satisfaction,  would  have  carried  us  far  beyond 
our  limits.  His  works  are  not  only  numerous,  but  differ  consid 
erably  in  their  views.  All  we  have  endeavored  to  represent  is 
the  ideas  which  he  produced  as  developments  of  Fichte,  and 
which  served  Hegel  as  a  basis.* 


CHAPTER  III. 

HEGEL. 
§  I.   LIFE  OF  HEGEL. 

GEORGE  FREDERICK  WILLIAM  HEGEL  was  born  at  Stuttgard, 
the  27th  of  August,  1770.  He  received  that  classical  education 
which  distinguished  the  Wirtembergian  students  beyond  all 
others ;  and  in  his  eighteenth  ydatf  he  went  to  Tubingen,  to  pur 
sue  his  theological  and  philosophical  studies.  He  was  there  a 
fellow-student  with  Schelling,  for  whom  he  contracted  great  es 
teem.  The  two  young  thinkers  communicated  to  each  other 
their  thoughts,  and  discussed  their  favorite  systems.  In  after- 

*  A  French  translation  of  Schilling's  most  important  work,  under  the 
title  of  Systimt  de  Vldealisme  transcendental,  by  P.  Grimblot,  the  translator 
of  Fichte,  has  appeared ;  also  a  version  of  Bruno ;  ou,  Les  Principes  den 
Choses. 


716  HEGEL. 

life,  when  opposition  had  sundered  these  ties,  Hegel  never  spoke 
of  this  part  of  their  connection  without  emotion.  In  his  twen 
tieth  year  he  had  to  give  up  all  his  plans  for  a  professorship,  and 
was  content  (hunger  impelling)  to  accept  the  place  of  a  private 
tutor,  first  in  Switzerland,  and  subsequently  in  Frankfort. 

Early  in  1801  his  father  died;  and  the  small  property  he  in 
herited  enabled  him  to  relinquish  his  tutorship,  and  to  move  to 
Jena,  where  he  published  his  dissertation  De  Orbitis  Planetarium. 
This  work  was  directed  against  the  Newtonian  system  of  Astron 
omy.  It  was  an  application  of  Schelling's  Philosophy  of  Na 
ture  ;  and  in  it  Newton  was  treated  with  that  scorn  which  Hegel 
never  failed  to  heap  upon  Empirics,  i.  e.  those  who  trusted  more 
to  experience  than  to  logic.  In  the  same  year  he  published  his 
Difference  between  Fichte  and  Schelling,  in  which  he  sided  with 
the  doctrines  of  his  friend,  whom  he  joined  in  editing  the  Crit 
ical  Journal  of  Philosophy.  It  is  in  the  second  volume  of  this 
Journal  that  we  meet  with  his  celebrated  essay  Glauben  und 
Wissen  (Faith  and  Knowledge),  in  which  Kant,  Jacobi,  and 
Fichte  are  criticised. 

At  Jena  he  enjoyed  the  society  of  Goethe  and  Schiller.  The 
former,  with  his  usual  sagacity,  detected  the  philosophical  genius 
which  as  yet  lay  undeveloped  in  Hegel ;  of  which  more  may  be 
read  in  Goethe  and  Schiller's  Correspondence.  Hegel,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  to  the  last  one  of  Goethe's  stanchest  admirers ; 
and  many  a  gleam  of  lustre  is  shed  over  the  pages  of  the  phi 
losopher  by  the  frequent  quotations  of  the  poet. 

At  the  University  of  Jena,  Hegel  then  held  the  post  of  Privat- 
docent  /  but  his  lectures  had  only  four  listeners.  These  four,  how 
ever,  were  all  remarkable  men :  Gabler,  Troxler,  Lachmann,  and 
Zellmann.  On  Schelling's  quitting  Jena,  Hegel  filled  his  chair  ; 
but  filled  it  only  for  one  year.  Here  he  published  his  Phanome- 
nologie  des  Geistes.  He  finished  writing  this  work  on  the  night 
of  the  ever-memorable  battle  of  Jena.  While  the  artillery  was 
roaring  under  the  walls,  the  philosopher  was  deep  in  his  work, 
unconscious  of  all  that  was  going  on.  He  continued  writing,  as 


TIT 

Archimedes  at  the  siege  of  Syracuse  continued  his  scientific  re 
searches.  The  next  morning,  manuscript  in  hand,  he  steps  into 
the  streets,  proceeding  to  his  publisher's,  firmly  convinced  that 
the  interests  of  mankind  are  bound  up  with  that  mass  of  writing 
which  he  hugs  so  tenderly.  The  course  of  his  reverie  is  some 
what  violently  interrupted ;  bearded  and  gesticulating  French 
soldiers  arrest  the  philosopher,  and  significantly  enough  inform 
him  that,  for  the  present,  the  interests  of  men  lie  elsewhere  than 
in  manuscripts.  In  spite  of  French  soldiers,  however,  the  work 
in  due  time  saw  the  light,  and  was  welcomed  by  the  philosophical 
world  as  a  new  system — or  rather  as  a  new  modification  ofSchel- 
ling's  system.  The  editorship  of  the  Bamberg  newspaper  was 
then  offered  him,  and  he  quitted  Jena.  He  did  not  long  remain 
at  Bamberg ;  for  in  the  autumn  of  1808  we  find  him  Rector  of 
the  Gymnasium  College  at  Niirnberg.  He  shortly  after  married 
Friiulein  von  Tucher,  with  whom  he  passed  a  happy  life,  and 
who  bore  him  two  sons.  In  1816  he  was  called,  to  the  chair 
of  Heidelberg,  and  published  in  1817  his  Encyclopadie  der  P kilos. 
Wissenschaften,  which  contains  an  outline  of  his  system.  This 
work  so  exalted  his  reputation  that  in  1818  he  was  called  to  the 
chair  of  Berlin,  then  the  most  important  in  Germany.  He 
there  lectured  for  thirteen  years,  and  formed  a  school,  of  which  it 
is  sufficient  to  name  its  members  Gans,  Rosenkranz,  Michelet, 
"Werder,  Marheiuecke,  and  Hotho. 

Hegel  was  seized  with  cholera  in  1831,  and  after  a  short  ill 
ness  expired,  in  the  sixty-second  year  of  his  age,  on  the  24th  of 
November,  the  anniversary  of  the  death  of  Leibnitz. 

§  II.  HEGEL'S  METHOD. 

Schelling's  doctrines  were  never  systematically  co-ordinated. 
He  was  subtle,  ardent,  and  audacious ;  but  he  disregarded  pre 
cision  ;  and  stood  in  striking  contradiction  to  his  predecessors, 
Kant  and  Fichte,  in  the  absence  of  logical  forms. 

The  effect  of  his  teaching  was  felt  more  in  the  department  of 
the  philosophy  of  nature  than  elsewhere.  Crowds  of  disciples, 


718  HEGEL. 

some  of  them,  as  Oken  and  Steffens,  illustrious  disciples,  attempt 
ed  the  application  of  his  principles  ;  and  after  a  vast  quantity  of 
ingenious  but  sterile  generalization,  it  was  found  that  these  prin 
ciples  led  to  no  satisfactory  conclusion. 

Schelling's  ideas  were,  however,  very  generally  accepted  in  the 
philosophical  world  at  the  time  Hegel  appeared.  These  ideas 
were  thought  to  be  genuine  intuitions  of  the  truth ;  the  only  draw 
back  was  their  want  of  systematic  co-ordination.  They  were 
inspirations  of  the  truth  ;  and  demonstrations  were  needed.  The 
position  Hegel  was  to  occupy  became  therefore  very  clear. 
Either  he  must  destroy  those  ideas  and  bring  forward  others ;  or 
he  must  accept  them,  and,  in  accepting,  systematize  them.  This 
latter  was  no  easy  task,  and  this  was  the  task  he  chose.  In  the 
course  of  his  labors  he  deviated  somewhat  from  Schelling,  because 
the  rigorous  conclusions  of  his  logic  made  such  deviations  neces 
sary  ;  but  these  are,  after  all,  nothing  but  modifications  of  Schel 
ling's  ideas ;  very  often  nothing  but  different  expressions  for  the 
same  ideas. 

What  then  constitutes  Hegel's  glory  ?  What  is  the  nature  of 
his  contribution  to  philosophy,  and  what  has  placed  him  on  so  high 
a  pedestal  of  renown  ?  It  is  nothing  less  than  the  invention  of 
a  new  Method.* 

The  invention  of  a  method  has  always  been  considered  the 
greatest  effort  of  philosophical  genius,  and  the  most  deserving  of 
the  historian's  attention.  A  method  is  a  path  of  transit.  Who 
so  discovers  a  path  whereon  mankind  may  travel  in  quest  of  truth, 
has  done  more  towards  the  discovery  of  truth  than  thousands  of 
men  merely  speculating.  What  had  the  observation  and  specu 
lation  of  centuries  done  for  astronomy  before  the  right  path  was 
found  ?  And  if  a  method  could  be  found  for  philosophy — if  a 
path  of  transit  from  the  phenomenal  to  the  noumenal  world  could 
be  found — should  we  not  then  be  quickly  in  possession  of  the  truth  ? 

*  This  is  the  claim  put  up  by  his  disciple,  Michelet,  Gesch,  der  Systeme  der 
Philos.  ii.  604-5  ;  who  declares  Hegel's  method  to  be  all  that  can  properly  be 
called  his  own.  Comp.  Hegel's  Vermlschte  Schriften,  ii.  479. 


719 

A  Method  is  all-important.  The  one  invented  by  Descartes 
seemed  promising ;  but  it  led  to  Malebranche  and  Spinoza.  The 
one  invented  by  Locke  had  obvious  excellences ;  but  it  was  a 
path  of  transit  to  Berkeley  and  Hume.  That  of  Kant  led  to 
Fichte  and  Skepticism. 

Curious  to  consider !  In  the  modern  as  in  the  ancient  world, 
the  inevitable  results  of  a  philosophical  Method  are  Idealism  and 
Skepticism.  One  class  of  minds  is  led  to  Idealism  or  Mysticism  ; 
another  class  is  led  to  Skepticism.  But  as  both  these  conclusions 
are  repugnant  to  the  ordinary  conclusions  of  mankind,  they  are 
rejected,  and  the  Method  which  led  to  them  is  also  rejected.  A 
new  one  is  found  ;  hopes  beat  high ;  truth  is  about  to  be  discov 
ered  ;  the  search  is  active,  and  the  result — always  the  same — re 
pugnant  Idealism  or  Skepticism.  Thus  struggling  and  baffled, 
hoping  and  dispirited,  has  Humanity  forever  renewed  the  con 
flict,  without  once  gaining  a  victory.  Sisyphus  rolls  up  the 
heavy  stone,  which  no  sooner  reaches  a  certain  point  than  down 
it  rolls  to  the  bottom,  and  all  the  labor  is  to  begin  again. 

We  have  already  traced  the  efforts  of  many  noble  minds ;  we 
have  seen  the  stone  laboriously  rolled  upwards,  and  seen  it  swift 
ly  roll  down  again.  We  have  seen  Methods  discovered ;  we  have 
followed  adventurous  spirits  as  they  rushed  forward  to  conquest ; 
and  seen  the  discouragement,  the  despair  which  possessed  them, 
as  they  found  their  paths  leading  only  to  a  yawning  gulf  of 
Skepticism,  or  a  baseless  cloud-land  of  Idealism.  We  have  now 
to  witness  this  spectacle  once  more.  We  have  to  see  whither 
Hegel's  Method  can  conduct  us. 

And  what  is  this  Method  which  Hegel  discovered  ?  Accepting 
as  indisputable  the  identity  of  Object  and  Subject,  he  was  forced 
also  to  accept  the  position,  that  whatever  was  true  of  the  thought 
was  true  of  the  thing.  In  other  words,  Mind  and  Matter  being 
identical,  Ideas  and  Objects  were  correlates,  and  equally  true. 
This  was  the  position  upon  which  Descartes  stood ;  the  position 
upon  which  Spinoza  stood.  Schelling  and  Hegel  arrived  at  this 
position  by  a  different  route,  but  they  also  took  their  stand  upon  it. 


720 


HEGEL. 


Now,  it  is  evident  that  such  a  position  is  exposed  to  attacks  on 
all  sides ;  to  none  more  so  than  the  contradictions  which  rise  up 
from  within  it.  If  whatever  is  true  of  Ideas  is  true  also  of  Objects, 
a  thousand  absurdities  bristle  up.  Thus,  as  Kant  said,  there  is 
considerable  difference  between  thinking  we  possess  a  hundred 
dollars,  and  possessing  them.  Hegel's  answer  is  delicious :  he 
declares  that  "  Philosophy  does  not  concern  itself  with  such 
things  as  a  hundred  dollars  !"  (damn  ist  philosophisch  nichts  zu 
erkennen.)  Philosophy  directs  its  thoughts  only  towards  that 
which  is  necessary  and  eternal. 

Very  well :  let  such  miserable  illustrations  as  that  of  dollars 
be  banished  from  discourse ;  let  us  concern  ourselves  only  with 
what  is  necessary  and  eternal ;  let  us  confine  ourselves  to  abstrac 
tions.  Are  there  no  contradictions  here  between  Thoughts  and 
E-ealities  ?  For  example,  we  have  the  Thought  of  Non-existence  : 
does  therefore  this  Non-existence  which  is  our  Thought  also 
possess  an  objective  being  ?  Is  there  a  Non-existence  ? 

We  have  chosen  this  idle  question,  because  Hegel  himself  has 
forced  us  to  it.  He  boldly  says,  that  the  Non-existence — the 
Nothing — exists,  because  it  is  a  Thought  (das  Nichts  ist ;  denn 
es  ist  ein  Gedanke).  It  is  not,  however,  merely  a  Thought,  but 
it  is  the  same  Thought  as  that  of  a  pure  Being  (Seyn),  viz.  an 
entirely  unconditioned  Thought. 

In  this,  coupled  with  his  famous  axiom,  that  "  Being  and  Non- 
Being  are  the  same"  (Seyn  und  Nichts  ist  dasselbe),  we- have 
two  of  the  curious  results  to  which  his  Method  led  him.  It  was 
the  Method  of  Descartes,  founded  upon  Descartes'  principle  of 
the  truth  of  ideas  being  equivalent  to  the  truth  of  things  ;  but 
inasmuch  as  this  met  with  strong  opposition  from  various  sides, 
Hegel  resolved  to  give  it  a  deeper,  firmer  basis,  a  basis  that  went 
underneath  these  contradictions.  The  basis  was  his  principle  of 
the  identity  of  contraries. 

Two  contraries  are  commonly  supposed  to  exclude  each  other 
reciprocally :  Existence  excludes  Non-Existence.  This  notion 
Hegel  pronounces  to  be  false.  Every  thing  is  contradictory  in 


721 

itself:  contradiction  forms  its  essence:  its  identity  consists  in 
being  the  union  of  two  contraries.  Thus  Being  (Seyri)  consid 
ered  absolutely — considered  as  unconditioned — that  is  to  say,  as 
Being  in  the  abstract,  apart  from  any  individual  thing,  is  the 
same  as  Nothing.  Existence  is  therefore  identical  with  its  nega 
tion.  But  to  conclude  that  there  is  not  Existence,  would  be 
false  ;  for  the  abstract  Nothing  (Nichts)  is  at  the  same  time  the 
abstract  Being.  AVe  must  therefore  unite  these  two  contraries, 
and  in  so  doing  we  arrive  at  a  middle  term — the  realization*  of 
the  two  in  one,  and  this  is  conditioned  Existence — it  is  the  world. 

Here  is  another  example.  In  pure  light — that  is,  light  without 
color  or  shadow — we  should  be  totally  unable  to  see  any  thing. 
Absolute  clearness  is  therefore  identical  with  absolute  obscurity — 
with  its  negation,  in  fact;  but  neither  clearness  nor  obscurity 
arc  complete  alone  :  by  uniting  them  we  have  clearness  mingled 
with  obscurity  ;  that  is  to  say,  we  have  Light  properly  so  called. 

Hegel  thus  seized  the  bull  by  the  horns.  Instead  of  allowing 
himself  to  be  worsted  by  the  arguments  derived  from  the  con 
tradictions  to  which  the  identity  of  Existence  and  Knowledge 
was  exposed,  he  at  once  met  the  difficulty  by  declaring  that  the 
identity  of  contraries  was  the  very  condition  of  all  existence; 
without  a  conU'ugy-Hotliing  could  cpjne_jjii4Hbringr---This  was 
logical  audacity  which  astounded  his  countrymen,  and  they  have 
proclaimed  this  feat  worthy  of  immortal  glory.  A  new  light 
seemed  to  be  thrown  upon  the  world :  a  new  aspect  was  given 
to  all  existences,  l^eing  was  at  the  same  time  Non-Being;  Sub 
ject  was  at  the  same  time  Object ;  and  Object  was  Subject : 
Force  was  at  the  same  time  Impotence;  Light  was  also  Dark 
ness,  and  Darkness  was  also  Light. 

"  Nothing  in  this  world  is  single ; 
All  things,  by  a  law  divine, 
In  one  another's  being  mingle." 

The  merit  of  this  discovery,  whatever  may  be  its  value,  is 


*  The  original  word  is  wer<len--t\\c  becoming.     It  is  much  used  in  German 
speculation  to  express  the  transition  from  Non-being  to  Being. 

31 


722  HEGEL. 

considerably  diminished  when  we  remember  how  distinctly  it 
was  enunciated  in  ancient  Greece.  Heraclitus  had  told  us  how 
"All  is,  and  is  not;  for  though  it  comes  into  being,  yet  it  forth 
with  ceases  to  be."  Empedocles  had  told  us  how  there  was 
"  Nothing  but  a  mingling  and  then  a  separation  of  the  mingled." 
Indeed  the  constant  flux  and  reflux  of  life,  the  many  changes, 
and  the  compound  nature  of  all  things,  must  early  have  led 
men  to  such  a  view.  Hegel  himself  admits  that  all  the  posi 
tions  maintained  by  Heraclitus  have  been  by  him  developed 
in  his  Logic.  What  then  was  wanting  to  Heraclitus — what 
is  the  great  merit  of  Hegel?  A  perception  of  the  logical 
law  of  the  identity  of  contraries.  To  this  Hegel  has  the  sole 
claim. 

Here,  then,  is  the  foundation-stone  of  Hegel's  system.  He 
adopts  the  principle  of  the  identity  of  Subject  and  Object.  This 
principle  being  pronounced  false,  because  it  leads  to  manifest 
contradictions,  Hegel  replies  that  the  principle  is  true ;  and  that 
it  must  lead  to  contradictions,  because  the  identity  of  contraries 
is  the  condition  of  all  existence. 

Such  is  the  Method  which  admiring  disciples  extol  as  the 
greatest  effort  of  Philosophy,  as  the  crown  of  all  previous  spec 
ulations  ;  and  even  in  France  it  has  been  in  some  quarters  ac 
cepted  as  a  revelation. 

The  law  being  given,  we  may  now  give  the  process.  Let  us 
take  any  one  Idea  (and  with  Hegel  an  Idea  is  a  reality,  an  Ob 
ject,  not  simply  a  modification  of  the  Subject) ;  this  Idea,  by  its 
inherent  activity,  tends  to  develop  that  which  is  within  it.  This 
development  operates  a  division  of  the  Idea  into  two  parts — a 
positive  and  a  negative.  Instead  of  one  Idea  we  have  therefore 
two,  which  reciprocally  exclude  each  other.  The  Idea,  therefore, 
by  the  very  act  of  development,  only  conduces  to  its  own  nega 
tion.  But  the  process  does  not  stop  there.  The  negation  itself 
must  be  negatived.  By  this  negation  of  its  negation,  the  Idea 
returns  to  its  primitive  force.  But  it  is  no  longer  the  same.  It 
has  developed  all  that  it  contained.  It  has  absorbed  its  contrary. 


ABSOLUTE   IDEALISM.  723 

Thus  the  negation  of  the  negation,  by  suppressing  the  negation, 
at  the  same  time  preserves  it.* 

We  may,  by  way  of  anticipation,  observe  that  Hegel's  notion  of 
God  becoming  conscious  of  Himself  in  Philosophy,  and  thereby  at 
taining  His  highest  development,  is  founded  on  the  above  process. 
God  as  pure  Being  can  only  pass  into  reality  through  a  nega 
tion  ;  in  Philosophy  He  negatives  this  negation,  and  thus  becomes 
a  positive  affirmation. 

§  III.  ABSOLUTE  IDEALISM. 

We  have  seen  Hegel's  Method.  Whether  that  be  a  path  of 
transit  to  the  domain  of  truth,  or  only  to  the  cloud-land  of  mys 
ticism  and  the  bogs  of  absurdity,  our  readers  will  very  soon 
decide.  Meanwhile  we  must  further  detail  Hegel's  opinions ;  we 
must  see  whither  his  Method  did  lead  him. 

As  every  thing  contains  within  itself  a  contradiction,  and  as 
the  identity  of  the  two  constitutes  its  essence,  so  we  may  say 
that  Schelling's  conception  of  the  identity  of  Subject  and  Ob 
ject  was  not  altogether  exact.  He  assumed  the  reality  of  both 
of  these  poles  of  the  magnet;  and  the  identity  he  called  the 
point  of  indifference  between  them.  These  two  extremities  were 
always  separate,  though  identified.  Hegel  declared  that  the 
essence  of  all  relation — that  which  is  true  and  positive  in  every 
relation — is  not  the  two  terms  related,  but  the  relation  itself. 
This  is  the  basis  of  Absolute  Idealism. 

It  may  be  thus  illustrated.  I  see  a  tree.  Psychologists  tell 
me  that  there  are  three  things  implied  in  this  one  fact  of  vision, 
viz.  a  tree,  an  image  of  that  tree,  and  a  mind  which  apprehends 
that  image.  Fichte  tells  me  that  it  is  I  alone  who  exist :  the 
tree  and  the  image  of  the  tree  are  but  one  thing,  and  that  is  a 
modification  of  my  mind.  This  is  Subjective  Idealism.  Schel- 
ling  tells  me  that  both  the  tree  and  my  Ego  are  existences 

*  This  play  upon  words  is  assisted  by  the  German  aufheben,  which  means 
"to  suppress"  as  well  as  "to  preserve."  See  Ott,  Hegel  et  la  Philos.  AlU- 
mande,  p.  80. 


724:  HEGEL. 

equally  real  or  ideal,  but  they  are  nothing  less  than  manifesta 
tions  of  the  Absolute.  This  is  Objective  Idealism.  But,  accord 
ing  to  Hegel,  all  these  explanations  are  false.  The  only  thing 
really  existing  (in  this  one  fact  of  vision)  is  the  Idea — the  rela 
tion.  The  Ego  and  the  Tree  are  but  two  terms  of  the  relation, 
and  owe  their  reality  to  it.  This  is  Absolute  Idealism. 

Of  the  three  forms  of  Idealism,  this  is  surely  the  most  pre 
posterous  ;  and  that  any  sane  man — not  to  speak  of  a  man  so 
eminent  as  Hegel — should  for  an  instant  believe  in  the  correct 
ness  of  the  logic  which  "  brought  him  to  this  pass" — that  he 
should  not  at  once  reject  the  premises  from  which  such  conclu 
sions  followed — must  ever  remain  a  wonder  to  all  sober  thinkers 
— must  ever  remain  a  striking  illustration  of  the  unbounded  con 
fidence  in  bad  logic  which  distinguishes  metaphysicians — 

"  Gens  rations  ferox,  et  men  tern  pasta  cliimaeris." 

Truly,  a  race  mad  with  logic,  and  feeding  the  mind  with  chi 
meras. 

What  does  this  Absolute  Idealism  bring  us  to?  It  brings  us 
to  a  world  of  mere  "  relations."  The  Spinozistic  notion  of  '•  Sub 
stance"  was  too  gross.  To  speak  of  Substance,  was  to  speak  only 
of  one  term  of  a  relation.  The  Universe  is  but  the  Universe  of 
Ideas,  which  are  at  once  both  Objective  and  Subjective,  their  es 
sence  consisting  in  the  relation  they  bear  to  each  other,  in  the 
identity  of  their  contradiction. 

Remark,  also,  that  this  Absolute  Idealism  is  nothing  but 
Hume's  Skepticism,  in  a  dogmatical  form.  Hume  denied  the 
existence  of  Mind  and  Matter,  and  said  there  was  nothing  but 
Ideas.  Hegel  denies  the  existence  of  both  Object  and  Subject, 
and  says  there  is  nothing  but  the  "  relations"  of  the  two.  He 
blames  Kant  for  having  spoken  of  Things  as  if  they  were  only 
appearances  to  us  (Erscheinungen  fitr  uns)  while  their  real  na 
ture  (Ansich)  was  inaccessible.  The  real  relation,  he  says,  is 
this:  that  the  Things  we  know  are  not  onlv  appearances  to  us, 
but  are  in  themselves  mere  appearances  (sondern  an  sick  blosse 
JZrscheinungen).  The  real  Objectivity  is  this ;  that  our  Thoughts 


ABSOLUTE   IDEALISM.  Y25 

are  not  only  Thoughts,  but  at  the  same  time  are  the  reality  of 
Things.* 

This  is  the  Philosophy — not  a  Philosophy,  remember — not  a 
system  which  may  take  its  place  amongst  other  systems.  No, 
it  is  the  Philosophy  par  excellence.  We  have  Hegel's  word  for 
it  ;f  we  have  the  confirmation  of  that  word  by  many  ardent  dis 
ciples.  True  it  is,  that  some  of  the  young  Hegelians,  when  re 
proached  with  the  constant  changes  they  introduce,  reply  that  it 
belongs  to  the  nature  of  Philosophy  to  change.  But  these  are 
inconsiderate,  rash  young  men.  Mature  and  sober  thinkers  (of 
Hegel's  school)  declare  that,  although  some  improvements  are 
possible  in  detail,  yet  on  the  whole  Hegel  has  given  the  Philos 
ophy  to  the  world. 

And  this  philosophy  is  not  a  system  of  doctrines  whereby  man 
is  to  guide  himself.  It  is  something  far  greater.  It  is  the  con 
templation  of  the  self-development  of  the  Absolute.  Hegel  con 
gratulates  mankind  upon  the  fact  of  a  new  epoch  having  dawned. 
"  It  appears,"  says  he,  "  that  the  World-Spirit  (  Weltgeist)  has  at 
last  succeeded  in  freeing  himself  from  all  encumbrances,  and  is 
able  to  conceive  himself  as  Absolute  Intelligence  (sick  als  abso- 

luten  Geist  zu  erfassen] For  he  is  this  only  in  as 

far  as  he  knows  himself  to  be  the  Absolute  Intelligence :  and 
this  he  knows  only  in  Science  ;  and  this  knowledge  alone  consti 
tutes  his  true  existence"]. 

Such  pretensions  would  be  laughable,  were  they  not  so  painful 
to  contemplate.  To  think  not  only  of  one  man,  and  that  one 
remarkable  for  the  subtlety  of  his  intellect,  a  subtlety  which  was 
its  bane,  together  with  many  other  men — some  hundred  or  so, 
all  rising  above  the  ordinary  level  of  ability — one  and  all  cul 
tivating,  as  the  occupation  of  their  lives,  a  science  with  such 
pretensions,  and  with  such  a  Method  as  that  of  the  identity  of 

*  "  Dass  die  Gedanken  nicht  bloss  unsere  Gedankeu,  sondern  zugleich  das 
Ansich  der  Dinge  und  des  Gegenstandlichen  (iberhanpt  sind." — Encyclopddie, 
p.  89  ;  see  also  p.  97.  The  whole  of  this  Introduction  to  the  Eiicydopddie  is 
worth  consulting. 

t  Gtsch.  der  Pldlos.  iii.  690.  \  Ibid.  iii.  689. 


726  HEGEL. 

contraries !  The  delusions  daily  to  be  seen  are  those  of  igno 
rance,  and  only  depend  upon  ignorance.  But  the  delusions  of 
Metaphysics  are  the  delusions  of  an  ambitious  intelligence  which 
"  o'erleaps  itself."  Men  such  as  Fichte,  Schelling,  and  Hegel, 
for  example,  belong  incontestably  to  a  high  order  of  intelligences ; 
yet  we  have  seen  to  what  their  reasonings  brought  them;  we 
have  seen  what  absurdities  they  could  accept,  believing  they  had 
found  the  truth.  Hegel  especially  impresses  you  with  a  sense  of 
his  wonderful  power.  His  works  we  have  always  found  very 
suggestive;  his  ideas,  if  repugnant  to  what  we  regard  as  the 
truth,  are  yet  so  coherent,  so  systematically  developed,  so  obvi 
ously  coming  from  matured  meditation,  that  we  have  always 
risen  from  the  perusal  with  a  sense  of  the  author's  greatness. 
We  allude  especially  to  his  Lectures  on  ^Esthetics,  his  History 
of  Philosophy,  his  Philosophy  of  History,  and  his  Philosophy 
of  Rdigwn. 

As  for  the  system  itself,  we  may  leave  to  all  readers  to  decide 
whether  it  be  worthy  of  any  attention,  except  as  an  illustration  of 
the  devious  errors  of  speculation.  A  system  which  begins  with 
assuming  that  Being  and  Non-Being  are  the  same,  because  Being 
in  the  abstract  must  be  conceived  as  the  Unconditioned,  and  so 
must  Non-Being,  therefore  both,  as  unconditioned,  are  the  same ; 
a  system  which  proceeds  upon  the  identity  of  contraries  as  the 
method  of  Philosophy ;  a  system  in  which  Thought  is  the  same  as 
the  Thing,  and  the  Thing  is  the  same  as  the  Thought;  a  system 
in  which  the  only  real  positive  existence  is  that  of  simple  Relation, 
the  two  terms  of  which  are  Mind  and  Matter  ; — this  system,  were  it 
wholly  true,  leaves  all  the  questions  for  which  science  is  useful  as 
a  light,  just  as  much  in  the  dark  as  ever,  and  is  therefore  unwor 
thy  the  attention  of  earnest  men  working  for  the  benefit  of 
mankind. 

Not  only  is  it  useless  ;  it  is  worse,  it  is  pernicious.  The  facility 
with  which  men  can  throw  all  questions  into  the  systematic  ob 
scurity  of  metaphysics,  has  long  been  the  bane  of  German  Liter 
ature  and  Thought.  In  England  and  France  we  have  been 


727 

saved  from  perpetuating  the  frivolous  discussions  of  the  School 
men,  mainly  because  we  have  retained  their  nomenclature  and 
terminology,  and  are  warned  by  these  from  off  scholastic  ground  ; 
but  the  Germans,  having  invented  a  new  philosophical  language, 
do  not  perceive  that  the  new  terms  disguise  old  errors ;  they  fail 
to  recognize  in  Irrlicht  the  familiar  face  of  Ignis  fatuus. 

§  IY.  HEGEL'S  LOGIC. 

Philosophy  being  the  contemplation  of  the  self-development  of 
the  Absolute,  or,  as  Hegel  sometimes  calls  it,  the  representation 
of  the  Idea  (Darstellung  der  Idee),  it  first  must  be  settled  in  what 
directions  this  development  takes  place. 

The  process  is  this..  Every  thing  must  be  first  considered 
per  se  (an  sick)  ;  next  in  its  negation,  or  some  other  thing  (An- 
derseyn).  These  are  the  two  terms — the  contraries;  but  they 
must  be  identified  in  some  third,  or  they  cannot  exist :  this  third 
is  the  Relation  of  the  two  (the  Anundfursichseyn).  This  is  the 
affirmation  which  is  founded  on  the  negation  of  a  negation  :  it  is 
therefore  positive,  real. 

The  Absolute,  which  is  both  Thought  and  Being,  must  be  con 
sidered  in  this  triple  order,  and  philosophy  falls  into  three  parts: 

I.  LOGIC,  the  science  of  the  Idee*  an  und  fur  sick. 

II.  NATURE-PHILOSOPHY,  as  the  science  of  the  Idee  in  its  An- 
derseyn. 

III.  PHILOSOPHY  OF  INTELLIGENCE,  as  the  Idee  which  has  re 
turned  from  its  Anderseyn  to  itself. 

Logic,  in  this  system,  has  a  very  different  meaning  from  that 
usually  given  to  the  word.  It  is,  indeed,  equally,  with  the  com 
mon  logic,  an  examination  of  the  forms  of  Thought ;  but  it  is 
more  : — it  is  an  examination  of  Things,  no  less  than  of  Thoughts. 
As  Object  and  Subject  are  declared  identical,  and  whatever  is 
true  of  the  Thought  is  equally  true  of  the  Thing,  since  the 

*  The  Idee  is  but  another  term  for  the  Absolute.  We  shall  use  it,  rather  than 
Idea,  because  the  English  word  cannot  be  employed  without  creating  un 
necessary  confusion. 


728  HEGEL. 

Thought  is  the  thing,  Logic,  of  course,  takes  the  place  of  the 
ancient  Logic,  and,  at  the  same  time,  of  Metaphysics.  It  is  the 
generation  of  all  abstract  ideas.  Consequently  it  contains  the 
whole  system  of  Science  ;  and  the  other  parts  are  but  the  appli 
cation  of  this  Logic. 

Hegel's  Logic  is  contained  in  three  stout  volumes  of  dry  hard 
scholasticism.  It  is  a  representation  of  the  Idee,  in  its  process 
of  pure  thought,  free  from  all  contact  with  objects.  It  is  wholly 
abstract.  It  begins  with  pure  Being.  This  pure  Being,  in  vir 
tue  of  its  purity,  is  unconditioned  ;  but  that  which  has  no  condi 
tions  has  no  existence  :  it  is  a  pure  abstraction.  Now  a  pure  ab 
straction  is  also  the  Nothing  (das  Nichts)  :  it  also  has  no  condi 
tions  ;  its  unconditionalness  makes  its  nothingness.  The  first 
proposition  in  Logic  is,  therefore,  "  Being  and  Non-Being  are  the 
same." 

Hegel  admits  the  proposition  to  be  somewhat  paradoxical,  and 
is  fully  aware  of  its  openness  to  ridicule  ;  but  he  is  not  a  man 
to  be  scared  by  a  paradox,  to  be  shaken  by  a  sarcasm.  He  is 
aware  that  stupid  common-sense  will  ask,  "  whether  it  is  the 
same  if  my  house,  my  property,  the  air  I  breathe,  this  town,  sun? 
the  law,  mind,  or  God,  exist  or  not."  Certainly,  a  very  pertinent 
question:  how  does  he  answer  it?  "  In  such  examples,"  he 
says,  "  particular  ends  —  utili^forjnstan^e  —  are  understood,  and 
then  it  is  asked  if  it  is  indifferent  to  me  whether  these  useful 
things  exist  "oFnoT]  BTit7m~~lruth  ,  Philosophy  ~is~~preeise  ly  the"  ~ 
toJrcc  man  from  ijmmim^rable  finite  aims  and 


ends,  and  to  make  him  so  indifferent,  to  them  that  it  is  really  all 

tliejjajne  whether  such  things  exist  or  not."  Here  we  trace  the 
Alexandrian  influence  ;  except  that  Plotinus  would  never  have  had 
the  audacity  to  say  that  Philosophy  was  to  make  us  indifferent 
whether  God  existed  or  not;  and  it  must  have  been  a  slip  of  the 
pen  which  made  Hegel  include  God  in  the  examples  :  a  slip  of 
the  pen,  or  else  the  "  rigor  of  his  pitiless  logic,"  of  which  his  dis 
ciples  talk.  "  Pitiless"  indeed  !  —  more  intrepid  absurdity  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find. 


729 

Remark,  also,  the  evasive  nature  of  his  reply.  Common-seme 
suggests  to  him  a  plain  direct  question,  not  without  interest.  This 
question,  plain  as  it  is,  goes  to  the  bottom  of  his  system.  He 
evades  it  by  answering,  that  Philosophy  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  interests  of  men.  Very  true  ;  his  system  has  nothing  to  do 
with  them.  But  the  question  put  was  not,  "  Has  Philosophy  to 
concern  itself  with  the  interests  of  mankind  ?"  The  question  put 
was,  "  If,  as  you  say,  Being  and  Non-Being  are  the  same,  is  it  the 
same  thing  to  have  a  house  and  not  to  have  it  ?"  Hegel  might 
have  given  a  better  answer  even  upon  his  own  principles. 

To  return,  however.  The  first  proposition  has  given  us  the  two 
contraries  ;  there  must  be  an  identity — a  relation — to  give  them 
positive  reality.  As  pure  Being,  and  as  pure  Non-Being,  they  have 
no  reality ;  they  are  mere  potentialities.  Unite  them,  and  you 
have  the  Becoming  ( Werden),  and  that  is  reality.  Analyze  this 
idea  of  Becoming,  and  you  will  find  that  it  contains  precisely 
these  two  elements, — a  Non-Being  from  which  it  is  evolving) 
and  a  Being  which  is  evolved. 

Now  these  two  elements,  which  reciprocally  contradict  each 
other,  which  incessantly  tend  to  absorb  each  other,  are  only 
maintained  in  their  reality  by  means  of  the  relation  in  which  they 
are  to  each  other ; — that  is,  the  point  of  the  magnet  which  keeps 
the  poles  asunder,  and  by  keeping  them  asunder  prevents  their 
annihilating  each  other.  The  Becoming  is  the  first  concrete 
Thought  we  can  have,  the  first  conception ;  Being  and  Non-Be 
ing  are  pure  abstractions. 

A  question  naturally  suggests  itself  as  to  how  Being  and  Non- 
Being  pass  from  Abstractions  into  Realities.  The  only  answer 
Hegel  gives  us  is,  that  they  become  Realities  :  but  this  is  answering 
us  with  the  very  question  itself.  We  want  to  know  how  they  be 
come.  In  themselves,  as  pure  Abstractions,  they  have  no  reality ; 
and  although  two  negatives  make  an  affirmative  in  language,  it 
is  not  so  evident  how  they  can  accomplish  this  in  fact.  The 
question  is  of  course  insoluble ;  and  those  Hegelians  whom  we 

questioned  on  the  point,  unanimously  declared  it  to  be  one  of 

310 


730  HEGEL. 

those  truths  (very  numerous  in  their  system)  which  can  be  com 
prehended,  but  not  proved. 

Let  us  grant  the  Becoming.  It  is  the  identity  of  Being  and 
Non-Being  ;  and  as  such  it  is  Being  as  determined,  conditioned. 
All  determination  (Bestimmung)  is  Negation.*  Therefore,  in 
order  that  Being  should  become,  it  must  suffer  first  a  negation  ; 
the  Ansichseyn  must  also  be  Anderseyn,  and  the  relation  of  the 
two  is  total  reality,  the  Anundfursichseyn. 

Quality  is  the  first  negation :  it  is  the  reality  of  a  thing. 
That  which  constitutes  Quality  is  the  negation  which  is  the  con 
dition  of  its  Being.  Blue,  for  example,  is  blue  only  because  it  is 
the  negation  of  red,  green,  purple,  etc. ;  a  meadow  is  a  meadow 
only  because  it  is  not  a  vineyard,  a  park,  a  ploughed  field,  etc. 

Being,  having  suffered  a  Negation,  is  determined  as  Quality, — 
it  is  Something,  and  no  longer  an  Abstraction.  But  this  some 
thing  is  limited  by  its  very  condition  ;  and  this  limit,  this  nega 
tion,  is  external  to  it:  hence  Something  implies  Some-other-thing. 
There  is  a  This  and  a  That.  Now  the  Something  and  the 
Some-other-thing,  the  This  and  the  That,  are  the  same  thing. 
This  is  a  tree  ;  That  is  a  house.  If  I  go  to  the  house,  it  will 
then  be  the  This,  and  the  tree  will  be  That.  Let  the  tree 
be  the  Something,  and  the  house  the  Some-other-thing,  and  the 
same  change  of  terms  may  take  place.  This  proves  that  the  two 
are  identical.  The  something  carries  its  opposite  (other-thing) 
within  itself;  it  is  constantly  becoming  the  other-thing.  Clearly 
showing  that  the  only  positive  reality  is  the  Relation  which 
always  subsists  throughout  the  changes  of  the  terms. 

This,  it  must  be  owned,  looks  like  the  insanity  of  Logic.  It  is 
not,  however,  unexampled  in  Hegel's  works.  In  his  Phanome- 
nologie  des  Geistes,  he  tells  us  that  perception  gives  us  the  ideas 
of  Now,  Here,  This,  etc.  And  what  is  the  Now  ?  At  noon  I  say, 
"  Now  it  is  day."  Twelve  hours  afterwards  I  say,  "  Now  it  is 
night."  My  first  affirmation  is  therefore  false  as  to  the  second, 

*  This,  as  many  other  ideas,  is  borrowed  from  Spinoza,  in  whose  system  it 
has  real  significance.  In  Hegel's  it  is  a  mere  play  upon  words. 


731 

my  second  false  as  to  the  first :  which  proves  that  the  Now  is  a 
general  idea;  and  as  such  a  real  existence,  independent  of  all 
particular  Nows. 

Our  readers  are  by  this  time  probably  quite  weary  of  this  friv 
olous  Logic  ;  we  shall  spare  them  any  further  details.  If  they 
wish  further  to  learn  about  Quantities,  Identities,  Diversities,  etc., 
they  must  consult  the  original. 

Those  who  are  utter  strangers  to  German  speculation  will 
wonder,  perhaps,  how  it  is  possible  for  such  verbal  quibbles  to 
be  accepted  as  Philosophy.  But,  in  the  first  place,  Philosophy 
itself,  in  all  its  highest  speculations,  is  but  a  more  or  less  inge 
nious  playing  upon  words.  From  Thales  to  Hegel,  verbal  distinc 
tions  have  always  formed  the  ground  of  Philosophy,  and  must 
ever  do  so  as  long  as  we  are  unable  to  penetrate  the  essence  of 
things.  In  the  second  place,  Hegel's  Logic  is  a  work  requiring 
prodigious  effort  of  thought  to  understand :  so  difficult  and  am 
biguous  is  the  language,  and  so  obscure  the  meaning.  Now, 
when  a  man  has  once  made  this  ejFort,  and  succeeded,  he  is  very 
apt  to  overvalue  the  result  of  all  that  labor,  and  to  believe  what 
he  has  found,  to  be  a  genuine  truth.  Thirdly,  Hegel  is  very 
consistent ;  consistent  in  audacity,  in  absurdity.  If  the  student 
yields  assent  to  the  premises,  he  is  sure  to  be  dragged  irresistibly 
to  the  conclusions.  Fourthly,  the  reader  must  not  suppose  that 
the  absurdities  of  Hegel's  system  are  so  apparent  in  his  works  as 
in  our  exposition.  We  have  exerted  ourselves  to  the  utmost  to 
preserve  the  real  significance  of  his  speculations ;  but  we  have 
also  endeavored  to  bring  them  into  the  clear  light  of  day.  Any 
thing  except  a  verbal  translation  would  reveal  some  aspects  of 
the  absurdity,  by  the  very  fact  of  bringing  it  out  of  the  obscurity 
with  which  the  German  terminology  veils  it.  The  mountain 
looming  through  a  fog  turns  out  to  be  a  miserable  hut  as  soon 
as  the  fog  is  scattered  ;  and  so  the  boasted  system  of  Absolute 
Idealism  turns  out  to  be  only  a  play  upon  words,  as  soon  as  it 
is  dragged  from  out  the  misty  terminology  in  which  it  is  en 
shrouded. 


732  HEGEL. 

§  V.  APPLICATION  OF  THE  METHOD  TO  NATURE  AND  HISTORY, 
RELIGION  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

Having  exhibited  the  various  evolutions  of  the  Idee  as  pure 
Thought,  Hegel  undertakes  to  exhibit  its  objective  evolutions  in 
the  domain  of  Nature. 

In  the  former  attempt  he  had  only  to  deal  with  abstractions  ; 
and  it  was  no  such  difficult  matter  to  exhibit  the  "  genesis  of 
ideas1' — the  dependence  of  one  formula  upon  another.  Verbal 
distinctions  were  sufficient  there.  But  verbal  distinctions,  auda 
cious  logic,  and  obscure  terminology  avail  nothing  in  attacking 
the  problems  presented  to  us  by. Nature;  and  in  endeavoring  to 
give  scientific  solutions,  Nature  is  not  to  be  coerced.  Aware  of 
the  difficulties — seeing  instinctively  that  the  varieties  of  Nature 
could  not  be  reduced  to  the  same  simplicity  as  the  varieties  of 
the  Idee— as  Thought  had  been  reduced  in  his  Logic — Hegel  as 
serted  that  the  determinations  of  the  Idee  in  its  exteriority  could 
not  follow  the  same  march  as  the  determinations  of  the  Idee  as 
Thought.  Instead  of  generating  each  other  reciprocally,  as  in 
the  Logic,  these  determinations  in  Nature  have  no  other  connec 
tion  than  that  of  coexistence  ;  sometimes  indeed  they  appear 
isolated. 

When  we  look  abroad  upon  Nature,  we  observe  an  endless 
variety  of  transformations.  At  first  these  seem  without  order ; 
on  looking  deeper,  we  find  that  there  is  a  regular  series  of  devel 
opment  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest.  These  transformations 
are  the  struggles  of  the  Idee  to  manifest  itself  objectively.  Nature 
is  a  dumb  Intelligence  striving  to  articulate.  At  first  she  mumbles ; 
with  succeeding  efforts  she  articulates  ;  at  last  she  speaks. 

Every  modification  which  the  Idee  undergoes  in  the  sphere  of 
pure  Thought  it  endeavors  to  express  in  the  sphere  of  Nature. 
And  thus  an  object  is  elevated  in  the  scale  of  creation  in  so  far 
as  it  resumes  within  itself  a  greater  number  of  qualities  :  inor 
ganic  matter  is  succeeded  by  organic,  and  amongst  organized 


APPLICATION   OF    HEGEL5S   METHOD. 


733 


beings  there  is  a  graduated  scale  from  the  plant  up  to  man.  In 
man  the  Idee  assumes  its  highest  grade.  In  Reason  it  becomes 
conscious  of  itself,  and  thereby  attains  real  and  positive  existence 
— the  highest  point  of  development.  Nature  is  divine  in  prin 
ciple  (an  sick),  but  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  it  divine  as  it  exists. 
By  the  Pantheists  Nature  is  made  one  with  God,  and  God  one 
with  Nature.  In  truth,  Nature  is  but  the  exteriority  (Aeusser- 
lichkeit)  of  God  :  it  is  the  passage  of  the  Idee  through  imperfec 
tion  (Abfall  der  Idee).  Observe  moreover  that  Nature  is  not 
only  external  in  relation  to  the  Idee,  and  to  the  subjective  exist 
ence  of  the  Idee,  namely  Intelligence  ;  but  exteriority  constitutes 
the  condition  in  virtue  of  which  Nature  is  Nature  (sondern  die 
AeusserlichJceit  macht  die  Bestimmung  aus,  in  welcher  sie  als 
Natur  ist). 

The  Philosophy  of  Nature  is  divided  into  three  sections — 
Mechanics,  Physics,  and  Physiology.  Into  the  details,  we  are 
happy  to  say,  our  plan  forbids  us  to  enter ;  or  we  should  have 
many  striking  illustrations  of  the  futility  of  that  Method  which 
pretends  to  construct  the  scheme  of  the  world  a  priori.  Experi 
mental  philosophers — Newton  especially — are  treated  with  con 
sistent  contempt*^  Hegelis  not  a  timid  speculate 
from  no  conse^uejice^  lie  bows  dowrTto  no  name  ;  he  is  im-^ 
pressed  Byno  fact,  however  great.  Tji^^JSeTrtrniVi*]^^ 

no  better 

seq-uaJ^  fundamental 

theories.  That  all  Europe  had  been  steadily  persevering  in  ap 
plying  Newton's  principles,  and  extending  his  discoveries, — that 
Science  was  making  gigantic  strides,  hourly  improving  man's 
mastery  over  Nature,  hourly  improving  the  condition  of  man 
kind, — this  fact,  however  great  it  might  appear  to  others,  when 
coupled  with  the  other  fact,  that  upon  the  ontological  Method 
no  discoveries  had  yet  been  made,  and  none  seemed  likely  to  be 
made — appeared  to  Hegel  as  unworthy  of  a  philosopher's  notice. 
The  interests  of  mankind  were  vulgar  considerations,  for  which 


734:  HEGEL. 

there  would  always  be  abundant  vulgar  minds.    The  philosopher 
had  other  objects. 

The  thirdjinjLlast  part  of  HegelXS£§fojm  is  the  Philosophy  of 
^Intelligence.  Therein  the  Idee  returns  from  Nature  to  Itself,  and 
'returns  througlTa  consciousness. of  itself. 

^JSubjectiyely  the  Idee. first  maatfests-.itself  as  a  Soul ;  it  then 
r^trinTsj]jjojTjt,self?  andJ^'mg^r^mse^^  nna'ily  ren 

ders  itself  an  Object  to  itself,  and  theniFis  Reason. 

Objectively  the  Idee  manifests  itself  as  Will,  and  realizes  itself 
in  History  and  in  Law. 

The  Subjective  and  Objective  manifestations  being  thus 
marked  out,  we  have  now  to  see  in  what  manner  the  identity  of 
the  two  will  manifest  itself.  The  identity  of  the  Objective  and 
Subjective  is  the  Idee  as  Intelligence,  having  consciousness  of 
itself  in  individuals,  and  realizing  itself  as  Art,  as  Religion,  and 
as  Philosophy. 

The  "  Lectures  on  the  Philosophy  of  History,"*  edited  by  the 
late  accomplished  Professor  Guns,  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  books 
on  the  subject  we  ever  read.  The  following  ideas  will  be  suffi 
cient  to  give  an  indication  of  its  method. 

History  is  the  development  of  the  Idee  objectively — the  pro 
cess  by  which  it  attains  to  a  consciousness  of  itself  by  explaining 
itself.f  The  condition  of  Intelligence  is  to  know  itself ;  but  it 
can  know  itself  only  after  having  passed  through  the  three 
phases  of  the  method,  namely,  affirmation,  negation,  and  nega 
tion  of  negation,  as  the  return  to  consciousness  endowed  with 
reality.  It  is  owing  to  these  phases  that  the  human  race  is  per 
fectible. 

States,  Nations,  and  Individuals  represent  the  determinate 
moments  of  this  development.  Each  of  these  moments  manifests 


*  Werke,  vol.  ix. 

t  History  is  a  sort  of  Theodicca  ;  the  merit  of  originality,  however,  which 
Hegel  claims  (Einldtung,  p.  20),  is  due  to  Vico,  from  whom  he  has  largely 
borrowed  ;  Vico  expressly  calls  his  New  Science  a  Civil  Theology  of  Divine 
Providence.  See  La  Science  Nouvelle,  livre  i.  ch.  iv. 


735 

itself  in  the  constitution,  in  the  manners,  in  the  creeds,  in  the 
whole  social  state  of  any  one  nation.  For  this  nation  it  is  what 
we  call  the  spirit  of  the  age  :  it  is  the  only  possible  truth,  and 
by  its  light  all  things  are  seen.  But  with  reference  to  the  abso 
lute  Idee  all  these  particular  manifestations  are  nothing  but 
moments  of  transition — instruments  by  which  the  transition  to 
another  higher  moment  is  prepared.  Great  men  are  the  incar 
nations  of  the  spirit  of  the  age. 

It  is  not  every  nation  that  constitutes  itself  into  a  state  :  to  do 
that,  it  must  pass  from  a  family  to  a  horde,  from  a  horde  to  a 
tribe,  and  from  a  tribe  to  a  state.  This  is  the  formal  realization 
of'the  Idee. 

But  the  Idee  must  have  a  theatre  on  which  to  develop  itself. 
The  Earth  is  that  theatre  ;  and  as  it  is  the  product  of  the  Idee 
(according  to  the  Naturphilosophie),  we  have  the  curious  pheno 
menon  of  an  actor  playing  upon  a  stage — that  stage  being  him 
self  !  But  the  Earth,  as  the  geographical  basis  of  History,  has 
three  great  divisions  : — 1.  The  mountainous  regions.  2.  The 
plains  and  valleys.  3.  The  coasts  and  mouths  of  rivers.  The 
first  represents  the  primitive  condition  of  mankind ;  the  second 
the  more  advanced  condition,  when  society  begins  to  be  formed ; 
the  third,  when,  by  means  of  river-communication,  the  activity 
of  the  human  race  is  allowed  free  development  in  all  directions, 
particularly  of  commerce.  This  is  another  of  the  ideas  of  Vico,* 
and  is  in  contradiction  to  all  history. 

The  great  moments  of  History  are  four.  1.  In  the  East  we 
have  the  predominance  of  substantiality;  the  Idee  does  not 
know  its  freedom.  The  rights  of  men  are  unknown  because  the 
East  knows  only  that  one  is  free.  This  is  the  childhood  of  the 
World.  2.  In  Greece  we  have  the  predominance  of  Individu 
ality.  The  Idee  knows  that  it  is  free,  but  only  under  certain 
forms,  that  is  to  say,  only  some  are  free.  Mind  is  still  mixed 
with  Matter,  and  finds  its  expression  therein ;  this  expression  is 

*  L&  Science  Nouvelk,  livre  i.  ch.  ii.  §  97. 


736  HEGEL. 

Beauty.  This  is  the  youthhood  of  the  World.  3.  In  Rome  we 
have  opposition  between  the  Objective  and  Subjective :  the  po 
litical  universality  and  individual  freedom  both  developed,  yet 
not  united.  This  is  the  Manhood  of  the  World.  4.  In  the  Teu 
tonic  Nations  we  have  the  unity  of  the  contradiction — the  Idee 
knowing  itself;  and  instead  of  supposing,  like  Greece  and  Rome, 
that  some  only  are  free,  it  knows  that  all  men  are  free.  This  is 
the  old-age  of  the  World  ;  but  although  the  old-age  of  body  is 
weakness,  the  old-age  of  Mind  is  ripeness.  The  first  form  of 
government  which  we  see  in  History  is  .Despotism  ;  the  second  is 
Democracy  and  Aristocracy  ;  the  third  is  Monarchy.* 

On  reading  over  this  meagre  analysis,  the  ingenious  specula 
tions  of  the  original  will  scarcely  be  recognized.  Such  -is  the 
art  with  which  Hegel  clothes  his  ideas  in  the  garb  of  Philosophy, 
that  though  aware  that  he  is  writing  fiction,  not  history,  and 
giving  us  perversions  of  notorious  facts  as  the  laws  of  historical 
development — telling  us  that  the  Spirit  of  the  World  manifests 
himself  under  such  and  such  phases,  when  it  is  apparent  to  all 
that,  granting  the  theory  of  this  World-Spirit's  development,  the 
phases  were  not  such  as  Hegel  declares  them  to  have  been ; — al 
though  we  are  aware  of  all  this,  yet  is  the  book  so  ingenious 
and  amusing,  that  it  seems  almost  unfair  to  reduce  it  to  such  a 
caput  mortuum  as  our  analysis.  Nevertheless  the  principles  of 
his  philosophy  of  History  are  those  we  have  given  above.  The 
application  of  those  principles  to  the  explication  of  the  various 
events  of  History,  is  still  more  ingenious. 

Hegel's  Philoso%)liy  of  Religion  has  in  the  last  few  years  been 
the  subject  of  bitter  disputes.  The  schisms  of  the  young  Hege 
lians — the  doctrines  of  Strauss,  Feuerbach,  Bruno,  Bauer,  and 
others — being  all  deduced,  or  pretended  to  be  deduced,  from 
Hegel's  system,  much  angry  discussion  has  taken  place  as  to  the 
real  significance  of  that  system.  When  doctors  thus  disagree, 
we  shall  not  presume  to  decide.  We  will  leave  the  matter  to 

*  Philosophic  dev  Geschichte,  p.  12S. 


theologians ;  and  for  the  present  only  notice  Hegel's  fundamental 
ideas. 

It  is  often  a  matter  of  wonder  to  see  how  Hegel's  Method  is 
applied  to  all  subjects,  and  how  his  theory  of  life  can  be  brought 
to  explain  every  product  of  life.  This  is  doubtless  a  great  logical 
merit ;  and  it  inspires  disciples  with  boundless  confidence.  Few, 
however,  we  suspect,  have  approached  the  subject  of  Religion 
without  some  misgivings  as  to  the  applicability  of  the  Method 
to  explain  it.  Probably  the  triumph  is  great  when  the  applica 
bility  is  shown  to  be  as  perfect  here  as  elsewhere.  Of  this  our 
readers  shall  judge. 

Hegel,  of  course,  accepts  the  Trinity ;  his  whole  system  is 
Trinitarian.  God  the  Father  is  the  eternal  Idee  an  und  fur  sich : 
that  is  to  say,  the  Idee  as  an  unconditioned  Abstraction.  God  the 
Son,  engendered  by  the  Father,  is  the  Idee  as  Andersseyn  :  that 
is  to  say,  as  a  conditioned  Reality.  The  separation  has  taken 
place  which,  by  means  of  a  negation,  gives  the  Abstraction  real 
existence.  God  the  Holy  Ghost  is  the  Identity  of  the  two ;  the 
negation  of  the  negation  and  perfect  totality  of  existence.  He  is 
the  Consciousness  of  himself  as  Spirit :  this  is  the  condition  of 
his  existence. 

God  the  Father  was  before  the  World,  and  created  it.  That 
is  to  say,  he  existed  an  sich,  as  the  pure  Idee,  before  he  assumed 
any  reality.  He  created  the  World,  because  it  is  the  essence  of 
his  being  to  create  (es  yehort  zu  seinem  Seyn,  Wesen,  Schopfer 
zu  seyri).  Did  he  not  create,  then  would  his  own  existence  be 
incomplete. 

The  vulgar  notion  of  theologians  is  that  God  created  the  world 
by  an  act ;  but  Hegel  says  that  the  creation  is  not  an  act,  but  an 
eternal  moment — not  a  thing  done,  but  a  thing  perpetually  doing  ; 
God  did  not  create  the  world,  he  is  eternally  creating  it.  Attached 
also  to  this  vulgar  notion,  is  another  less  precisely  but  more 
commonly  entertained ;  namely,  that  God,  having  created  the 
world  by  an  act  of  his  will,  lets  it  develop  itself  with  no  inter 
ference  of  his ;  as  Goethe  somewhere  ridicules  it,  he  "  sits  aloft 


738  HEGEL. 

seeing  the  world  go."  This  was  not  the  doctrine  of  St.  Paul, 
whose  pregnant  words  are,  "  In  Him  we  live,  and  move,  and  have 
our  being."  We  live  in  God,  not  out  of  him,  not  simply  by  him. 
And  this  is  what  Hegel  means  when  he  denies  that  the  creation 
was  a  single  act.  Creation  was,  and  is,  and  ever  will  be.  Crea 
tion  is  the  reality  of  God :  it  is  God  passing  into  activity,  but 
neither  suspended  nor  exhausted  in  the  act. 

This  is  all  we  can  here  give  of  his  Philosophy  of  Religion  ; 
were  we  to  venture  further,  we  should  only  get  ourselves  entan 
gled  in  the  thorny  labyrinth  of  theological  problems.  Let  us 
pass,  therefore,  to  his  History  of  Philosophy,  which,  according 
to  him,  is  the  history  of  the  development  of  the  Idee  as  intelli 
gence.  This  development  of  thought  is  nothing  more  than  the 
various  transitions  which  constitute  the  moments  of  the  absolute 
Method.  All  these  moments  are  represented  in  history ;  so  that 
the  History  of  Philosophy  is  the  reproduction  of  the  Logic  under 
the  forms  of  intelligence.  The  succession  of  these  moments 
gives  to  each  period  a  particular  philosophy ;  but  these  various 
philosophies  are,  in  truth,  only  parts  of  the  one  philosophy. 
This  looks  like  the  Eclecticism  of  Victor  Cousin ;  and  indeed 
Cousin's  system  is  but  an  awkward  imitation  of  Hegel :  but  the 
Frenchman  has  either  misunderstood,  or  has  modified,  the  views 
of  his  master. 

Historically  speaking,  there  have  been,  according  to  Hegel, 
but  two  philosophies — that  of  Greece  and  that  of  Germany.  The 
Greeks  conceived  Thought  under  the  form  of  the  Idee  ;  the  mod 
erns  have  conceived  it  under  the  form  of  Spirit.  The  Greeks 
of  Alexandria  arrived  at  unity  ;  but  their  unity  was  only  ideal, 
it  existed  objectively  in  thought.  The  subjective  aspect  was 
wanting :  the  totality  knew  itself  not  as  subjective  and  objective. 
This  is  the  triumph  of  modern  philosophy. 

The  moments  have  been  briefly  these:—!.  With  Thales  and 
the  Eleatics,  the  Idee  was  conceived  as  pure  Being — the  One. 

2.  With  Plato  it  was  conceived  as  Universal,  Essence,  Thought. 

3.  With  Aristotle  as  Conception  (Begri/}.     4.  With  the  Stoics, 


APPLICATION    OF    HEGEL5S    METHOD.  739 

Epicureans,  and  Skeptics,  as  subjective  Conception.  5.  With 
the  Alexandrians  as  the  totality  of  Thought.  6.  With  Descartes 
as  the  Self-Consciousness.  7.  With  Fichte  as  the  Absolute,  or 
Ego.  8.  With  Schelling  as  the  Identity  of  Subject  and  Object. 

We  close  here  our  exposition  of  Hegel's  tenets ;  an  exposition 
which  we  have  been  forced  to  give  more  in  his  own  words  than 
we  could  have  wished  ;  but  the  plan  we  adopted  with  respect  to 
Kant  and  Fichte  would  not  have  been  so  easy  (we  doubt  if  it  be 
possible)  with  respect  to  Hegel,  whose  language  must  be  learned, 
for  the  majority  of  his  distinctions  are  only  verbal.  In  Kant 
and  Fichte  the  thoughts  were  to  be  grappled  with  ;  in  Hegel  the 
form  is  every  thing. 

We  have  only  touched  upon  essential  points.  Those  desirous 
of  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  system,  are  referred  to 
the  admirable  edition  of  his  complete  works,  published  by  his  dis 
ciples,  in  twelve  volumes,  octavo.  If  this  voluminousness  be  some 
what  too  alarming,  we  can  recommend  the  abridgment  by  Franz 
and  Hillert  (HegeVs  Philosophic  in  wortlichen  Auszugen,  Berlin, 
1843),  where  the  whole  system  is  given  in  Hegel's  own  words,  and 
only  his  illustrations  and  minute  details  are  omitted.  Michelet's 
work  is  useful  mainly  for  its  bibliography.  He  indicates  the  vari 
ous  directions  taken  by  Hegel's  disciples.  Chalybaus  is  popular, 
but  touches  only  on  a  few  points.  Barchou  de  Penhoen  evidently 
knows  Hegel  only  at  second-hand,  and  is  not  to  be  trusted.  Dr. 
Ott's  work  is  ill  written,  but  is  very  useful  as  an  introduction  to 
the  study  of  the  works  themselves,  and  has  been  very  useful  to 
us  in  our  exposition.  No  work  of  Hegel's  has  been  translated 
into  English;*  and  only  his  ^Esthetik  into  French,  and  that  is 
more  an  analysis,  we  believe,  than  a  translation.  The  Philos 
ophy  of  History  has  been  translated  into  Italian. 

*  Since  this  was  written,  a  part  of  the  Logic  has  appeared  under  this 
title  :  The  Subjective  Logic  of  Hegel,  translated  l>y  II.  Sloman  and  J.  Wallon, 
1855.  To  the  list  of  works  mentioned  above  should  be  added  Wilm's  ad 
mirable  Hist,  de  la  Pldlos.  Allemande,  by  far  the  best  work  on  the  subject 
known  to  me. 


TENTH  EPOCH. 

PSYCHOLOGY   SEEKING   ITS  BASIS  IN   PHYSIOLOGY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

CABANIS. 

WHILE  Ontology  was  reasserting  its  claim  in  Germany,  with 
such,  results  as  we  have  seen,  Philosophy  in  England  and  France 
relinquished  its  lofty  claims,  and  contented  itself  with  the  en 
deavor  to  construct  a  Psychology.  The  writings  of  Reid,  Stew 
art,  Brown,  James  Mill,  and  their  disciples,  valuable  in  many 
respects,  are  all  deficient  in  Method,  all  without  a  firm  basis.  The 
attempt  of  Hartley  and  Darwin  to  connect  Psychology  with 
Physiology,  we  have  seen  was  premature.  It  nevertheless  point 
ed  out  the  true  direction.  If  Psychology  is  to  be  studied  as  a 
Science,  it  must  be  studied  according  to  rigorously  scientific  prin 
ciples  ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  to  be  studied  as  a  branch  of 
Metaphysics,  then  indeed  the  Scotch  school,  and  every  other 
unscientific  school,  may  justly  complain  of  the  encroachment  of 
Physiology  on  their  domain. 

The  history  of  the  rise  of  psychological  Method  remains  to  be 
written.  .  It  began  with  Hobbes  and  Locke.  They  opposed  the 
reigning  doctrine  of  innate  ideas.  They  analyzed  Thought  as 
the  product  of  Experience.  Hobbes,  as  was  natural  in  the  first 
vehemence  of  the  swing  of  reaction  against  spiritualism,  recog 
nizes  nothing  in  the  mind  but  sensations  in  all  their  varieties  ; 


CABANIS.  741 

the  mind,  he  said,  is  moved  by  external  motion,  that  is  all. 
Locke,  on  deeper  meditation,  saw  that  there  was  something  more 
than  this  ;  he  saw,  dimly  it  is  true,  yet  never  overlooking  it  alto 
gether,  that  the  mind  co-operated.  Not  only  Sense,  but  Reflection 
on  the  materials  given  through  Sense,  furnished,  he  said,  the 
complex  thoughts  of  man.  Thus  he  proclaimed  Experience  the 
source  of  knowledge.  The  mind  of  the  child  was  like  a  sheet  of 
blank  paper,  on  which  Experience  wrote  its  various  records.  In 
Locke,  we  see  the  initial  steps  of  the  Physiological  Method ;  and 
as  he  was  himself  an  anatomist,  there  is  nothing  surprising  in 
his  having  been  led  by  his  study  of  man's  structure  to  some  con 
clusions  respecting  man's  mind.  He  directed  that  attention  to 
Sense  which  metaphysicians  had  been  in  the  habit  of  directing 
to  ideas  and  verbal  subtleties  ;  and  by  so  doing,  took  an  impor 
tant  step  towards  the  confrontation  of  speculation  with  fact ;  and 
initiated  the  still  more  important  idea  of  a  constant  relation  be 
tween  organ  and  function.  He  also  was  led  to  study  the  growth 
of  mind  ;  and  hence  his  frequent  reference  to  savages  and  chil 
dren,  which  distresses  Victor  Cousin,  who  is  often  as  terrified  at 
a  fact  as  at  a  ghost. 

Great  as  Locke's  services  were,  there  was  a  radical  vice  in  his 
system  which  prevented  its  acceptance.  He  began  the  Physio 
logical  Method,  but  he  only  began  it.  The  Experience-hypoth 
esis  would  not  suffice  to  explain  all  phenomena  (at  least  not  as 
that  hypothesis  was  then  understood)  ;  there  were  forms  of 
thought  neither  reducible  to  Sense  and  Reflection,  nor  to  indi 
vidual  Experience.  He  drew  illustrations  from  children  and 
savages ;  but  he  neither  did  this  systematically,  nor  did  he  ex 
tend  the  Comparative  Method  to  animals.  The  prejudices  of  that 
age  forbade  it.  The  ignorance  of  that  age  made  it  impossible. 
Comparative  Physiology  is  no  older  than  Goethe,  and  Compara 
tive  Psychology  is  only  now  glimmering  in  the  minds  of  men  as 
a  possibility.  If  men  formerly  thought  they  could  understand 
man's  body  by  dissecting  it,  and  did  not  need  the  light  thrown 
thereon  by  the  dissection  of  animals ;  they  were  still  less  likely 


742 


CABANIS. 


to  seek  psychical  illustrations  in  animals,  denying,  as  they  did, 
that  animals  had  minds. 

The  school  of  Locke,  therefore,  although  regarding  Mind  as  a 
property  of  Matter,  consequently  directing  attention  to  the  hu 
man  organism,  trying  to  understand  the  mechanism  of  sensation, 
and  thus  dealing  with  tangible  realities  instead  of  with  impalpa 
ble  and  ever-shifting  entities,  was  really  incompetent  to  solve  the 
problems  it  had  set  itself,  because  its  Method  was  imperfect,  and 
its  knowledge  incomplete.  The  good  effect  of  its  labors  was  pos 
itive  ;  the  evil,  negative.  Following  out  this  positive  tendency, 
we  see  Hartley  and  Darwin  advancing  still  nearer  to  a  true 
Method  ; — by  a  bold  hypothesis,  making  the  phenomena  depen 
dent  on  vibrations  in  the  nerves ;  thus  leading  to  a  still  more 
precise  and  definite  consideration  of  the  organism. 

These  were,  however,  tentatives  guided  by  no  distinct  concep 
tion  of  the  necessary  relation  between  organ  and  function  ;  and 
the  Physiological  Method,  truly  so  called,  must  be  first  sought  in 
Cabanis. 

Pierre  Jean  Georges  Cabanis  was  born  5th  of  June,  175*7,  at 
Conac,  near  Brives.  He  became  a  physician,  and  established 
himself  at  Auteuil,  where,  in  the  house  of  Madame  Helvetius,  he 
cultivated  the  acquaintance  of  Turgot,  D'Holbach,  Franklin, 
Condillac,  Diderot,  and  D'Alembert.  To  these  let  us  add  Con- 
dorcet  and  Mirabeau,  both  of  whom  he  attended  in  their  last 
hours.  He  died  on  the  6th  of  May,  1808.  He  wrote  several 
works,  but  one  only  has  survived  in  the  memories  of  philosophic 
readers  :  Rapports  du  Physique  et  du  Moral  de  VHomme* 

A  disciple  of  Condillac,  he  nevertheless  saw,  more  distinctly 
than  any  man  before  him,  one  radical  vice  of  Condillac's  system, 
namely,  the  limitation  of  mental  phenomena  to  sensations,  and 


*  This  work  originally  appeared  as  a  series  of  Memoires  read  before  the 
Institute  (1798-99).  It  was  published  as  a  separate  book  in  1802,  under  the 
title  Traitedu  Physique  et  du  Moral  de  VHomme  ;  which  title  is  also  borne  by 
the  second  edition  of  1805.  Not  until  1815,  and  after  the  death  of  Cabanis, 
was  the  word  Jtapports  substituted  for  Traite. 


CABANIS.  743 

the  non-recognition  of  connate  instincts.  If  sensation  were  the 
admitted  source  of  all  mental  phenomena  (and  Cabanis  rightly 
extended  these  phenomena  beyond  "  ideas"),  it  became  the  duty 
of  philosophers  to  examine  the  nature  of  sensation  itself.  "  No 
one,"  he  says,  "  had  clearly  explained  in  what  the  act  of  sensibil 
ity  consists.  Does  it  always  presuppose  consciousness  and  dis 
tinct  perception  ?  and  must  we  refer  to  some  other  property  of 
the  living  body  all  those  unperceived  impressions  and  movements 
in  which  volition  has  no  part  ?"  To  put  this  question  was  to  in 
augurate  a  new  study.  It  became  necessary  to  examine  whether 
all  mental  phenomena  were  not  reducible  to  the  fundamental 
laws  of  sensibility.  "  All  the  while  that  the  Intellect  is  judging 
and  the  Will  is  desiring  or  rejecting,  many  other  functions  are 
going  on,  all  more  or  less  necessary  to  the  preservation  of  life. 
Have  these  diverse  operations  any  influence,  the  one  on  the 
other?  And  is  it  possible  from  the  consideration  of  different 
physical  and  moral  states,  which  are  observed  simultaneously,  to 
seize  the  relations  which  connect  the  most  striking  phenomena, 
with  such  precision  as  to  be  certain  that  in  the  other  less  obvi 
ous  cases,  if  the  connection  is  less  easily  detected,  it  is  so  simply 
because  the  indications  are  too  fugitive  ?" 

This  conception  of  a  possible  Psychology  is  in  itself  enough  to 
mark  forever  the  place  of  Cabanis  in  the  History  of  Philosophy. 
It  establishes  Psychology  as  one  branch  of  the  great  science  of 
Life.  It  connects  the  operations  of  intelligence  and  volition  with 
the  origin  of  all  vital  movements.  It  makes  Life  and  Mind  cor 
relatives.  This  was  a  revival  of  the  great  truth  clearly  recog 
nized  by  Aristotle,  from  whom  it  descended  to  the  Schoolmen. 
"  Impossibile  est,"  says  Aquinas,  very  emphatically,  "  in  uno 
homine  esse  plures  animas.per  essentiam  differentes,  sed  una  tan- 
turn  est  anima  intellectiva,  quas  vegetativse  et  sensitive  et  intel- 
lectivse  officiis  fungitur."  The  division  of  Life  and  Mind  as 
two  distinct  entities  was  introduced  by  the  Italians  of  the  Renais 
sance,  adopted  by  Bacon,  and  once  more  rejected  by  Stahl,  who 
returned  to  the  Aristotelian  conception.  With  the  fall  of  Stahl's 


744  CABANIS. 

doctrine,  the  separation  of  Mind  from  Life  again  became  the 
dictum  of  the  schools,  until  Cabanis ;  no  one  since  Cabanis 
seems  to  have  been  thoroughly  impressed  with  the  unity  of  the 
two  till  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  presented  it  as  the  basis  of  psycho 
logical  induction.*  The  consequences  were  immediate  :  if  Mind 
was  to  be  studied  as  one  aspect  of  Life,  it  could  only  be  efficient 
ly  studied  on  that  inductive  and  experimental  Method  which  had 
reached  the  certain  truths  of  positive  science  :  "  Les  principes 
foudamentaux  seraient  egalement  solides;  elles  se  formeraient 
egalement  par  1'etude  severe  et  par  la  composition  des  faits ; 
elles  s'etendraient  par  les  memes  methodes  de  raisonuement." 
Cabanis  warns  his  readers  that  they  will  find  nothing  of  what  is 
called  Metaphysics  in  his  book;  they  will  only  find  physiological 
researches,  metis  dirigees  vers  V etude  particuUere  d?un  ordre  de 
fonctions. 

In  the  purely  physiological  direction,  indeed,  Cabanis  had 
many  predecessors,  from  Willis  in  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  to  Prochaska,  who  preceded  Cabanis  by  one  year  only.f 
The  nervous  system  had  of  course  been  studied  by  physiologists, 
and  this  study  led  them  to  psychological  theories ;  but  although 
we  may  find  elsewhere,  especially  in  Unzer  and  Prochaska, 
sounder  views  of  the  physiology  of  the  nervous  system,  we  find 
nowhere  so  clear  and  large  a  conception  of  the  physiological 
psychology. 

"  Subject  to  the  action  of  external  bodies,"  says  Cabanis,  "  man 
finds  in  the  impressions  these  bodies  make  on  his  organs  at  once 
his  knowledge  and  the  causes  of  his  continued  existence  ;  for  to 
live  is  to  feel ;  and  in  that  admirable  chain  of  phenomena  which 
constitute  his  existence,  every  want  depends  on  the  development 

i 

*  Spencer,  Principles  of  Psychology,  1855. 

t  Lefin>dtze  aus  der  Physlologie  des  Menschen,  1797.  Curiously  enough  the 
second  and  third  editions  of  this  work  were  exactly  contemporaneous  with 
the  second  and  third  editions  of  Cabanis,  1802  and  1S05  (counting  the  publi 
cation  in  the  Memoires  de  Vlnstitut  as  one  edition).  It  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  Cabanis  knew  of  Prochaska's  existence  ;  nor  is  there  more  than  a  gen 
eral  resemblance  in  their  physiological  conclusions. 


CABANIS.  745 

of  some  faculty  ;  every  faculty  by  its  very  development  satisfies 
some  want,  and  the  faculties  grow  by  exercise  as  the  wants  ex 
tend  with  the  facility  of  satisfying  them.  By  the  continual  action 
of  external  bodies  on  the  senses  of  man,  results  the  most  remark 
able  part  of  his  existence.  But  is  it  true  that  the  nervous  cen 
tres  only  receive  and  combine  the  impressions  which  reach  them 
from  these  bodies  ?  Is  it  true  that  no  ima^e  or  idea  is  formed 

O 

in  the  brain,  and  that  no  determination  of  the  sensitive  organ 
takes  place,  other  than  by  virtue  of  these  same  impressions  on 
the  senses  strictly  so  called  2"* 

This  question  cuts  away  the  very  root  of  Condillac's  system. 
Cabanis  had  no  difficulty  in  showing  that  Condillac's  limitation  of 
our  mental  phenomena  to  the  action  of  the  special  senses,  was  a 
contradiction  of  familiar  experience,  e.  g.  the  manifold  influence 
exercised  by  the  age,  sex,  temperament,  and  the  visceral  sensa 
tions  generally.  A  survey  of  the  human  organism,  compared  with 
that  of  animals,  conducted  him  to  the  following  conclusions : 

"  The  faculty  of  feeling  and  of  spontaneous  movement,  forms 
the  character  of  animal  nature. 

"  The  faculty  of  feeling  consists  in  the  property  possessed  by 
the  nervous  system  of  being  warned  by  the  impressions  produced 
on  its  different  parts,  and  notably  on  its  extremities.  These  im 
pressions  are  internal  or  external. 

"External  impressions,  when  perception  is  distinct,  are  called 
sensations. 

"  Internal  impressions  are  very  often  vague  and  confused,  and 
the  animal  is  then  only  warned  by  their  effects,  and  does  not 
clearly  distinguish  their  connection  with  the  causes. 

"  The  former  result  from  the  application  of  external  objects  to 
the  organs  of  sense ;  and  on  them  ideas  depend. 

"  The  latter  result  from  the  development  of  the  regular  func 
tions,  or  from  the  maladies  to  which  each  organ  is  subject ;  and 
from  these  issue  those  determinations  which  bear  the  name  of 
instincts. 

*  Deuxieme  Memoire,  §  ii. 


746  CABANIS. 

"Feeling  and  movement  are  linked  together.  Every  move 
ment  is  determined  by  an  impression,  and  the  nerves,  as  the  or 
gans  of  feeling,  animate  and  direct  the  motor  organs. 

"  In  feeling,  the  nervous  organ  reacts  on  itself.  In  movement 
it  reacts  on  other  parts,  to  which  it  communicates  the  contractile 
faculty,  the  simple  and  fecund  principle  of  all  animal  movement. 

"Finally,  the  vital  functions  can  exercise  themselves  by  the 
influence  of  some  nervous  ramifications,  isolated  from  the  sys 
tem  :  the  instinctive  faculties  can  develop  themselves,  even  when 
the  brain  is  almost  wholly  destroyed,  and  when  it  seems  wholly 
inactive. 

"But  for  the  formation  of  thoughts  it  is  necessary  that  the 
brain  should  exist,  and  be  in  a  healthy  condition  :  it  is  the  spe 
cial  organ  of  thought."* 

He  justly  repudiates  any  attempt  to  explain  sensibility,  which 
must  be  accepted  as  a  general  property  of  organized  beings,  in 
the  same  way  that  attraction  is  accepted  as  a  general  property  of 
masses.  No  general  fact  admits  of  explanation.  It  can  only  be 
subordinated  to  some  other  fact,  and  be  explained  by  it,  on  the 
supposition  that  it  is  not  general.  Accepting  sensibility,  there 
fore,  as  an  ultimate  fact  in  the  organic  world,  he  detects  its  phe 
nomena  running  through  all  those  called  vital  and  all  those  called 
mental. 

"  It  is  something,"  he  says,  "  to  have  established  that  all  ideas 
and  all  moral  phenomena  are  the  results  of  impressions  received 
by  the  different  organs ;  and  I  think  a  still  wider  step  is  taken 
when  we  have  shown  that  these  impressions  have  appreciable 
differences,  and  that  we  can  distinguish  them  by  their  seat  and 
the  character  of  their  products,  although  they  all  act  and  react 
on  each  other,  on  account  of  the  rapid  and  continual  communi 
cations  with  the  sensitive  organ."|  The  object  of  his  treatise  is 
to  examine  the  relations  existing  between  the  moral  and  physical 
conditions,  how  the  sensations  are  modified  by  modifications  in 

*  Deuxilrw  Memoire,  §  viii.  t  Ibid.,  §  v. 


CABANIS. 

the  organs,  how  ideas,  instincts,  passions  are  developed  and  mod 
ified  by  the  influences  of  age,  sex,  temperament,  maladies,  etc. 
It  is  not,  therefore,  a  treatise  on  Psychology,  but  contributions 
towards  a  science  of  Psychology,  and  as  such  may  still  be  read 
with  advantage,  although  the  science  of  the  present  day  rejects 
many  of  its  physiological  details.  He  foresaw  that  this  would  be 
so.  "  Le  lecteur  s'apercevra  bientot  que  nous  entrons  ici  dans 
une  carriere  toute  nouvelle.  Je  n'ai  pas  la  prevention  de  1'avoir 
parcouru  jusqu'au  bout;  mais  des  hommes  plus  habiles  et  plus 
heureux  acheveront  ce  que  trop  souvent  je  n'ai  pu  que  tenter." 

As  a  specimen  of  inductive  Psychology,  we  must  not  pass  over 
in  silence  his  experimental  proof  of  instinct  being  developed  by 
certain  organic  conditions.  He  takes  one  of  the  most  marvellous 
of  instincts,  that  of  maternal  love,  and  having  analyzed  its  phys 
iological  conditions,  he  says  "In  my  province,  and  some  of  the 
neighboring  provinces,  when  there  is  a  deficiency  of  sitting  Hens, 
a  singular  practice  is  customary.  We  take  a  capon,  pluck  off 
the  feathers  from  the  abdomen,  rub  it  with  nettles  and  vinegar, 
and  in  this  state  of  local  irritation  place  the  capon  on  the  eggs. 
At  first  he  remains  there  to  soothe  the  pain ;  soon  there  is  estab 
lished  within  him  a  series  of  unaccustomed  but  agreeable  im 
pressions,  which  attach  him  to  these  eggs  during  the  whole 
period  of  incubation  ;  and  the  effect  is  to  produce  in  him  a  sort 
of  factitious  maternal  love,  which  endures,  like  that  of  the  hen, 
as  long  as  the  chickens  have  need  of  aid  and  protection.  The 
cock  is  not  thus  to  be  modified ;  he  has  an  instinct  which 
carries  him  elsewhere." 

The  novelty  of  the  conception  which  Cabanis  put  forth,  and 
the  interest  attached  to  many  of  his  illustrations,  made  his  work 
very  popular;  but  its  influence  was  only  indirect.  The  igno 
rance  which  almost  all  psychologists  continued  to  display,  not 
only  of  Physiology,  but  of  the  necessity  of  a  physiological 
Method,  together  with  the  alarm  excited  by  the  accusation  of 
"  materialism,"  aided  as  it  was  by  the  reaction,  mainly  political, 
but  soon  extending  itself  to  philosophical  questions,  which  con- 


748  CABANIS. 

demned  the  labors  of  the  eighteenth  century,  left  Cabanis  with 
few  adherents  and  no  continuers.  In  elaborate  works  the  brain 
was  still  designated  as  the  "organ  of  the  mind,"  but  the  mind 
was  passionately  declared  not  to  be  the  function  of  the  brain ; 
the  profounder  views  of  Cabanis,  which  regarded  Mind  as  one 
aspect  of  Life,  were  replaced  by  the  old  metaphysical  concep 
tions  of  le  Moi — the  Ego — the  immaterial  Entity  playing  upon 
the  brain  as  a  musician  plays  upon  an  instrument*  Instinct 
was  no  longer  regarded  as  determined  by  the  organism,  chang 
ing  with  its  changes,  rendered  abortive  by  mutilations,  and  ren 
dered  active  by  stimulation  ;  but  as  a  "  mysterious  principle  im 
planted"  in  the  organism :  a  "  something"  which,  although  es 
sentially  mysterious  and  unknowable,  appeared  to  be  perfectly 
well  known  to  the  metaphysicians. 

While  the  reaction  was  strong  against  Cabanis  and  against 
the  whole  eighteenth-century  Philosophy,  there  arose  another 
doctrine,  which,  taking  Physiology  as  its  avowed  basis,  succeeded, 
in  spite  of  vehement  opposition,  in  establishing  itself  perma 
nently  among  the  intellectual  tendencies  of  the  age ;  and  that 
doctrine  may  now  be  said  to  be  the  only  psychological  one  which 
counts  any  considerable  mass  of  adherents.  I  allude  to  Phre 
nology. 

*  One  living1  writer,  of  authority,  has  gravely  declared  that  mental  fa 
tigue  is  the  consciousness  which  the  mind  has  of  the  brain's  weariness ! 
In  our  confessed  inability  to  understand  what  matter  is,  why  will  men 
persist  in  dogmatizing  on  what  it  is  not?  We  know  neither  matter  nor 
spirit,  we  only  know  phenomena. 


CHAPTER  II. 
P  H  KEN  O  LOGY. 

§  I.   LIFE  OF  GALL. 

FRANCIS  JOSEPH  GALL  was  born  at  Tiefenbrunn,  in  Suabia,  on 
the  9th  of  March,  1757.  In  the  preface  to  his  great  work, 
Anatomie  et  Physiologic  du  Systeme  Nerveux,  1810,  he  narrates 
how  as  a  boy  he  was  struck  with  the  differences  of  character  and 
talents  displayed  by  members  of  the  same  family,  and  how  he 
observed  certain  external  peculiarities  of  the  head  to  correspond 
with  these  differences.  Finding  no  clue  given  in  the  works  of 
metaphysicians,  he  resumed  his  observations  of  nature.  The 
physician  of  a  lunatic  asylum  at  Vienna  allowed  him  frequent 
occasions  of  noticing  the  coincidence  of  peculiar  monomaniacs 
with  peculiar  configurations  of  the  skull.  The  prisons  and 
courts  of  justice  furnished  him  with  abundant  material.  When 
ever  he  heard  of  a  man  remarkable  either  for  good  or  evil, 
he  made  his  head  a  study.  He  extended  his  observation  to  ani 
mals  ;  and  finally  sought  confirmation  in  anatomy.  The  exterior 
of  the  skull  he  found,  as  a  general  rule,  to  correspond  with  the 
form  of  the  brain. 

After  twenty  years  of  observation,  dissection,  theorizing,  and 
arguing,  he  delivered  his  first  course  of  lectures  in  Vienna.  This 
was  in  1796.  The  novelty  of  his  views  excited  a  great  sensation  ; 
one  party  fanatically  opposing  them,  another  almost  as  fanatically 
espousing  them.  Ridicule  was  not  sparing.  The  new  system 
lent  itself  to  ridicule,  and  angry  opponents  were  anxious,  as  oppo 
nents  usually  are,  to  show  that  what  made  them  angry  was  utterly 
farcical.  In  1800  Gall  gained  his  best  disciple,  Spurzheim. 


750  PHRENOLOGY. 

Hitherto  Gall  had  been  aided  by  a  young  anatomist  named 
Niklas,  to  whom  he  taught  the  new  method  of  dissecting  the 
brain  ;*  now  Spurzheim's  mastery  of  anatomical  manipulation, 
combined  with  his  power  of  generalization  and  of  popular  expo 
sition,  came  as  welcome  aids  in  the  gigantic  task  of  establishing 
the  new  doctrine  on  a  scientific  basis. 

In  1802,  M.  Charles  Villers,  the  translator  of  Kant,  published 
his  Lettre  a  Georges  Cuvier  sur  une  Nouvelle  Theorie  du  Cerveau 
par  le  Docte-ur  Gall.  I  have  riot  been  able  to  procure  this  Let 
ter,  but  it  is  in  many  points  interesting  to  the  historian  of  Phre 
nology,  because  it  not  only  expounds  the  doctrine  as  it  was  then 
conceived,  but  describes  the  localization  of  the  organs  then 
fixed  on  by  Gall.  A  plate  represents  the  skull,  marked  by 
Gall  himself,  with  the  four-and-twenty  organs,  which  at  that 
period  comprised  the  "original  faculties"  of  the  mind.  Among 
these  twenty-four,  there  are  four  subsequently  discarded  alto 
gether  :  Vital  Force — Susceptibility — Penetration  (independent 
of  that  which  characterizes  the  metaphysical  faculty) — and  Gen 
erosity  (independent  of  benevolence.)  Not  only  are  these  four  as 
tonishing  organs  marked  by  Gall  as  representing  original  facul 
ties,  but  the  twenty  organs  which  were  afterwards  retained  by 
him  are  differently  localized  ;  so  that,  according  to  M.  Lelut, 
from  whom  I  borrow  these  details,  "of  those  twenty  organs 
there  is  scarcely  one  which  occupies  the  place  Gall  finally  as 
signed  to  it."f 

Phrenologists  should  give  prominence  to  this  fact.  They  are 
bound  not  to  pass  it  over.  In  every  way  it  is  important  in  the 
history  of  the  doctrine.  It  may  perhaps  be  satisfactorily 
explained ;  but  until  it  be  so  explained,  it  must  tell  against  them  ; 
and  for  the  very  reason  which  they  incessantly  advance  as  their 
claim  to  consideration,  namely,  that  the  several  organs  were 


*  Gall  pays  his  tribute  to  Niklas  in  the  first  edition  of  the  Anat.  et  Phys. 
du  Systeme  Nerueux,  i.  preface  xv.  In  the  second  edition  this  tribute  is  omit 
ted  ;  not  very  creditably. 

t  Lelut:  Ittjet  de  V Organologle  Phrcnoloyique,  1843,  p.  29. 


LIFE    OF    GALL.  751 

established  by  observation,  not  by  any  theory.*  For,  if  the  doctrine 
had  been  established  by  a  mingling  of  hypothesis  and  observa 
tion,  nothing  would  be  more  likely  than  that  the  first  sketch  of  it 
would  be  immature  in  conception,  and  uncertain  in  details; 
whereas,  if  the  doctrine  grew  up  slowly  from  a  gradual  accumu 
lation  of  rigorously  verified  facts,  these  facts  would  remain  con 
stant  through  all  the  tentative  changes  of  doctrine.  Gall  had 
been  twenty  years  collecting  facts  of  correspondence  between  ex 
ternal  configuration  and  peculiarities  of  character.  He  had  con 
trolled  these  observations  by  repeated  verifications.  Prisons, 
lunatic  asylums,  busts,  portraits,  remarkable  men,  even  animals, 
had  furnished  him  with  facts.  Unless  these  facts  really  deserve 
all  the  credit  which  is  demanded  for  them,  Phrenology  has  the 
ground  cut  from  under  it.;  and  if  we  are  to  give  them  our  confi 
dence,  upon  what  ground  can  we  relinquish  it  in  favor  of  subse 
quent  facts,  which  deny  all  that  has  been  said  before  ?  If  Gall 
could  be  deceived  after  twenty  years  of  observation  of  facts 
which,  according  to  his  statement,  are  very  easily  observed,  be 
cause  very  obvious  in  their  characters,  why  may  he  not  have 
been  equally  deceived  in  subsequent  observations  ?  If  one  col 
lection  of  facts  forced  him  to  assign  the  organ  of  poetry  to  a 
particular  spot  (on  the  skull  marked  by  him  for  M.  Villers),  how 
came  another  collection  of  facts  to  displace  poetry,  and  substitute 
benevolence  on  that  spot  ?  Are  the  manifestations  of  poetry  and 
benevolence  so  closely  allied  as  to  mislead  the  observer  ? 

Probably  Spurzheim's  assistance  came  at  the  right  moment  to 
rectify  many  of  the  hazardous  psychological  statements,  and  to 
marshal  the  facts  in  better  order.  Together  they  made  a  tour 
through  Germany  and  Switzerland,  diffusing  the  knowledge  of 
their  doctrine,  and  everywhere  collecting  fresh  facts.  On  the 
30th  of  October,  1806,  they  entered  Paris.  In  1808  they  pre- 

*  "  On  voit  par  la  marche  de  ces  recherches  que  le  premier  pas  fut  fait  par 
la  decouverte  de  quelques  organes  ;  que  ce  n'est  quegraduellement  que  nous 
avons  fait  parler  les  faits  pour  en  deduireles  principes  gerieraux,  et  que  c'est 
subsequemment  et  a  la  fin  que  nous  avons  appris  &  connaitre  la  structure  du 
cerveau." — Anat.  et  Phys.  i.  preface  xviii. 


752  PHRENOLOGY. 

sented  to  the  Institute  their  Memoire  on  the  Anatomy  and  Physi 
ology  of  the  Nervous  System  in  general,  and  of  the  Brain  in 
particular  ;  and  in  1810  appeared  the  first  volume  of  their  great 
work,  under  the  same  title,  which  work  was  remodelled  in  1823, 
and  published  in  six  volumes,  octavo,  under  the  title  of  Fonctions 
du  Cerveau. 

In  1813  Gall  and  Spurzheim  quarrelled  and  separated.  Spurz- 
heim  came  to  England,  Gall  remained  in  Paris,  where  he  died 
on  the  22d  of  August,  1828.  At  the  post-mortem  examination, 
his  skull  was  found  to  be  of  at  least  twice  the  usual  thickness, — a 
fact  which  has  been  the  source  of  abundant  witticisms,  for  the 
most  part  feeble.  A  small  tumor  was  also  found  in  his  cerebel 
lum  :  "  a  fact  of  some  interest,  from  that  being  the  portion  of  the 
brain  in  which  he  had  placed  the  organ  of  amativeness,  a  pro 
pensity  which  had  always  been  very  strongly  marked  in  him."* 
I  know  not  in  what  sense  the  writer  just  quoted  thinks  the  fact 
so  remarkable.  Tumors  in  other  organs  are  not  usually  the  indi 
cations  of  increased  activity;  nor  are  we  accustomed  to  find 
great  poets  with  tumors  in  the  organ  of  "imagination  ;"  great 
artists  with  tumors  in  the  perceptive  region ;  great  philanthro 
pists  with  tumors  on  the  frontal  arch ;  great  rebels  with  tumors 
behind  their  ears.f 

§  II.   GALL'S  HISTORICAL  POSITION. 

The  day  for  ridiculing  Gall  has  gone  by.  Every  impartial  com 
petent  thinker,  whether  accepting  or  rejecting  Phrenology,  is 
aware  of  the  immense  services  Gall  has  rendered  to  Physiology 
and  Psychology,  both  by  his  valuable  discoveries,  and  by  his  bold, 
if  questionable,  hypotheses.  He  revolutionized  Physiology  by 
his  method  of  dissecting  the  brain,  and  by  his  bold  assignment 

*  The  English  Cyclopaedia^  vol.  iii.,  Art.  Gall. 

t  To  anticipate  the  reply  that  the  existence  of  disease  in  the  organ  would 
provoke  unusual  activity  of  the  organ,  it  is  only  necessary  to  state  that  Gall's 
"propensity"  is  not  said  to  have  been  called  into  unusual  activity  shortly 
before  his  death,  but  to  have  always  been  very  active.  Had  there  been  a 
casual  connection  between  the  disease  and  the  activity,  increase  of  the  activ 
ity  would  have  followed  the  rapid  progress  of  the  disease. 


753 

of  definite  functions  to  definite  organs.  To  verify  or  refute  his 
hypotheses,  vast  researches  were  undertaken  ;  the  nervous  system 
of  animals  was  explored  with  new  and  passionate  zeal ;  and  now 
there  is  no  physiologist  who  openly  denies  that  mental  phenom 
ena  are  directly  connected  with  nervous  structure ;  while  even 
Metaphysicians  arc  beginning  to  understand  the  Mechanism  of 
the  Senses,  and  the  general  laws  of  nervous  action.  The  time 
has  arrived  in  which  it  seems  almost  as  absurd  to  theorize  on 
mental  phenomena  in  defiance  of  physiological  laws,  as  it  would 
be  to  adopt  Stahl's  advice,  and  consider  anatomical  and  chemical 
researches  futile  in  the  study  of  Medicine.  We  owe  this  mainly 
to  the  influence  of  Gall.  He  first  brought  into  requisite  promi 
nence  the  principle  of  the  necessary  relation  between  organ  and 
function.  Others  had  proclaimed  the  principle  incidentally ;  he 
made  it  paramount  by  constant  illustration,  by  showing  it  in  de 
tail,  by  teaching  that  every  variation  in  the  organ  must  necessa 
rily  bring  about  a  corresponding  variation  hi  the  function.  He 
did  not  say  mind  was  the  product  of  organization :  "  Nous  ne 
confondous  pas  les  conditions  avec  les  causes  efficientes  ;"  all  he 
asserted  was  the  correspondence  between  the  state  of  the  organ 
and  its  manifestations.*  This  was  at  once  to  call  the  attention 
of  Europe  to  the  marvellous  apparatus  of  organs,  which  had  pre 
viously  been  so  little  studied,  except  from  a  purely  anatomical 
view,  that  no  one,  until  Sommerring  (who  was  Gall's  contempo 
rary),  had  observed  the  relation  between  size  of  the  brain  and  in 
tellectual  power,  as  a  tolerably  constant  fact  in  the  animal  king 
dom.  This  one  detail  is  sufficient  to  make  every  reader  suspect  the 
chaotic  condition  of  Physiological  Psychology  when  Gall  appeared. 
Nor  has  Gall's  influence  been  less  remarkable  in  the  purely 
psychological  direction.  People  are  little  aware  how  that  influ- 

*  So  also  Spurzheim  says :  "  Both  Dr.  Gall  and  I  have  always  declared  that 
we  merely  observe  the  effective  and  intellectual  manifestations,  and  the  or 
ganic  conditions  under  which  they  take  place  ;  and  that  in  vising  the  word 
organs  we  only  mean  the  organic  parts  by  means  of  which  the  faculties  of  the 
mind  become  apparent,  but  not  that  thesfi  constitute  tlie  mind." — Phrenolo 
gy,  p.  16. 

32* 


754:  PHRENOLOGY. 

ence  is  diffused,  even  through  the  writings  of  the  opponents  of 
Phrenology,  and  has  percolated  down  to  the  most  ordinary  intel 
ligences.  "  Ni  les  vains  efforts  d'un  despotisme  energique,"  says 
Auguste  Comte,  "  secondes  par  la  houteuse  condescendance  de 
quelques  savans  fort  accredited,  ni  les  sarcasrnes  ephemeres  de 
1'esprit  litteraire  et  metaphysique,  ni  meme  la  frivole  irrationa- 
lite  de  la  plupart  des  essais  tentes  par  les  imitateurs  de  Gall, 
n'ont  pa  empecher  pendant  les  trente  dernieres  annees  Taccroisse- 
ment  rapide  et  continu,  dans  toutes  les  parties  du  monde  savant, 
du  nouveau  systeme  d'etudes  de  1'homme  intellectual  et  moral. 
A  quels  autres  signes  voudrait-on  reconnaitre  le  succes  progres- 
sif  d'une  heureuse  revolution  philosophique  ?"* 

Gall  may  be  said  to  have  definitively  settled  the  dispute  be 
tween  the  partisans  of  innate  ideas  and  the  partisans  of  Sensa 
tionalism,  by  establishing  the  connate  tendencies,  both  affective 
and  intellectual,  which  belong  to  the  organic  structure  of  man. 
Two  psychological  facts,  familiar  from  all  time  to  the  ordinary 
understanding,  but  shrouded  from  all  time  in  the  perplexities  of 
philosophy,  were  by  Gall  made  the  basis  of  a  doctrine.  The 
first  of  these  facts  is,  that  all  the  fundamental  tendencies  are  con 
nate,  and  can  no  more  be  created  by  precept  and  education  than 
they  can  be  abolished  by  denunciation  and  punishment.  The 
second  fact  is,  that  man's  various  faculties  are  essentially  distinct 
and  independent,  although  intimately  connected  with  each  other. 
What  followed  ?  That  the  Mind  consists  of  a  plurality  of  func 
tions,  consequently  must  have  a  plurality  of  organs,  became  the 
necessary  corollary  of  this  second  proposition,  as  soon  as  the  re 
lation  between  organ  and  function  was  steadily  conceived. 

These  two  propositions  have  entered  into  the  body  of  all  Euro 
pean  doctrines,  although  the  corollary  from  the  second  is  still 
vehemently  disputed  by  many.  No  man  of  any  intellectual 
eminence  would  now  repeat  Johnson's  celebrated  assertion  of  the 
poetic  faculty  being  simply  intellectual  activity  in  a  special  di- 

*  Cours  de  Philos.  Positive,  in.  766. 


CRANIOSCOPY.  755 

rection,  whereby  Newton  might  have  written  Othello,  and  Shak- 
speare  the  Prineipia,  had  either  of  these  great  men  set  them 
selves  the  task.  "  Sir,  a  man  can  walk  as  far  east  as  he  can  walk 
west,"  was  thought  a  conclusive  illustration ;  which  indeed  it 
was,  when  the  "  unity"  of  the  faculties  found  no  contradiction ; 
but  which  no  one  would  now  accept  as  more  than  a  fallacious 
analogy. 

Another  conception  systematized  by  Gall  has  also  passed  into 
general  acceptance,  namely,  the  pre-eminence  of  the  affective 
faculties  over  the  intellectual ;  and  the  subdivision  of  the  affec 
tive  faculties  into  propensities  and  sentiments,  and  of  the  intel 
lectual  faculties  into  perceptives  and  reflectives ;  thus  marking 
the  progress  in  development  from  the  individual  to  the  social, 
from  the  sensuous  to  the  intellectual,  which  constitutes  the  great 
progress  of  civilization  in  the  triumph  of  sociality  over  animality. 

§  III.  CRANIOSCOPY. 

Phrenology  has  two  distinct  aspects.  It  is  a  doctrine  of  Psy 
chology,  and  it  is  an  Art  of  reading  character.  The  scientific 
doctrine  is  based  on  the  physiology  of  the  'nervous  system,  to 
which  is  added  psychological  analysis  and  classification.  The 
Art  is  based  on  empirical  observation  of  coincidences  between 
certain  configurations  of  the  skull  and  certain  mental  phenomena. 
This  latter  is  truly  Cranioscopy,  and  is  no  more  entitled  to  the 
name  of  a  science,  than  are  Physiognomy  or  Cheironomy ;  a 
point  which  Gall's  successors  have,  with  scarcely  an  exception," 
entirely  overlooked.  When  therefore  the  phrenologists  with 
much  emphasis  declare  their  system  to  be  a  system  of  "  facts" 
and  "  observations,"  which  claim  our  confidence  because  they 
are  facts  and  not  "  mere  theories,"  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that 
we  should  accurately  discriminate  in  what  sense  these  said  facts 
are  to  be  understood ;  because  according  to  that  sense  will  be 
the  kind  of  confidence  they  will  claim.  If,  for  instance,  they  are 
presented  purely  as  empirical  facts — the  observed  coincidences 
between  certain  cranial  appearances  and  corresponding  mental 


756  PHRENOLOGY. 

manifestations — we  may  thankfully  accept  them  as  valuable 
materials.  Abundance  of  such  material  does  exist;  no  one 
acquainted,  even  superficially,  with  phrenological  writings  will 
deny  it.  But  without  desiring  to  lessen  the  value  of  these  facts 
by  rigorous  criticism  of  the  evidence  on  which  they  rest,  we  may, 
nay  more,  we  must,  if  our  inquiry  be  regulated  by  scientific  pre 
cision,  treat  them  as  we  treat  all  other  empirical  facts,  namely, 
hold  them  as  mere  sign-posts,  until  they  be  proved  universal, 
and  until  they  be  bound  together  by  some  ascertained  law.  Now 
it  will  scarcely  be  denied  that  the  observed  correspondences  be 
tween  special  cranial  configuration  and  mental  peculiarities,  do, 
in  many  instances,  fail.  Large  heads  are  sometimes  observed  in 
connection  with  very  mediocre  abilities;  small  heads,  on  the 
contrary,  with  very  splendid  abilities  ;  particular  "  organs"  do 
not  always  justify  their  prominence  by  the  presence  of  the  par 
ticular  "faculties"  which  they  are  said  to  indicate.  I  wish 
rather  to  understate  than  overstate  the  difficulty,  and  I  will  not 
seek  to  gain  any  advantage  by  multiplying  exceptions :  it  is 
enough  for  the  present  argument  if  any  exceptions  have  been 
observed ;  because  any  exception  to  an  empirical  generalization 
is  fatal  to  it  as  an  empirical  generalization,  and  can  only  be  set 
aside  when  the  generalization  has  ceased  to  be  empirical,  and 
has  become  scientific.  Thus,  I  am  aware  that  phrenologists  ex 
plain  each  exception  to  their  perfect  satisfaction.  But,  in 
explaining  it,  they  quit  the  sphere  of  empirical  observation  to 
enter  that  of  science ;  and  thus  their  explanation  itself  has  only 
the  validity  which  can  be  given  it  by  theory.  To  make  my 
meaning  more  definite,  let  us  suppose  that  the  empirical  general 
ization  of  large  chests  being  the  cause  of  great  muscular  power, 
is  under  discussion.  As  an  observed  fact — an  empirical  fact — 
the  correspondence  of  broad  chests  and  muscular  strength,  is  a 
valuable  addition  to  our  empirical  knowledge.  Taken  as  an  in 
dication,  RO  one  disputes  the  fact ;  but  taken  as  a  cause,  and 
connected  with  a  physiological  theory,  it  bears  quite  a  different 
value.  The  physiologist  may  say  that  the  fact  proves  breadth 


CRANIOSCOPV.  757 

of  chest  to  admit  of  more  perfect  oxygenation  of  the  blood,  and 
thus  causes  greater  muscular  power.  Against  such  a  theory  we 
bring  the  fact  that  no  absolute  and  constant  relation  between 
broad  chests  and  muscular  power  exists ;  if  we  find  large  chests 
accompanying  strength,  we  also  find  small  chests  in  certain  lithe, 
wiry  frames  accompanying  even  greater  strength ;  the  empirical 
generalization  is  thus  destroyed,  the  explanation  is  shown  to  be 
imperfect,  and  the  ratio  of  muscular  power  is  shown  to  depend 
on  some  other  condition  besides  the  oxygenation  of  the  blood. 

When  phrenologists  explain  away  the  exceptions  to  their  em 
pirical  facts,  they  are  on  the  field  of  pure  science,  and  their  ex 
planations  can  only  have  value  in  proportion  to  the  validity  of 
the  scientific  principles  invoked ;  and  thus  the  Art  of  Cranios- 
copy  is  perpetually  forced  to  recur  to  that  very  Physiology  which 
the  successors  of  Gall  have  so  unwisely  neglected,  and  of  which 
(because  it  refuses  its  aid  ?)  they  often  speak  so  contemptuously. 
The  fact  of  a  large  head  with  a  small  mental  capacity,  or  of  a 
small  head  with  a  great  mental  capacity,  is  explained  by  them 
as  resulting  from  the  difference  in  the  "  temperaments"  of  the 
two.  But  have  they  discriminated  the  conditions  thus  vaguely 
indicated  by  the  word  temperament  ?  Have  they  estimated  the 
proportions  in  Avhich  the  temperaments  are  mingled  ?  Have  they 
discovered  a  means  of  valuation  by  which  the  exact  influence  of 
each  temperament  can  be  estimated  ?  They  have  not  even  made 
the  attempt. 

And  yet  that  such  a  valuation  is  indispensable  to  the  scientific 
precision  of  their  results,  must  be  evident  to  every  one.  What, 
strictly  speaking,  is  this  "  temperament,"  which  acts  as  a  disturb 
ing  force  in  the  calculation  ?  I  believe  that  science  will  one  day 
show  that  it  is  the  result  of  that  law  of  indeterminate  composi 
tion  which  distinguishes  living  tissue  from  all  other  substances. 
Inorganic  bodies  combine  according  to  the  law  of  determinate 
composition  :  the  proportions  of  the  constituent  elements  are 
fixed,  definite,  invariable.  In  water  we  invariably  find  88'9  of 
oxygen,  and  11-1  of  hydrogen,  in  every  100  parts;  never  more, 


758  PHRENOLOGY. 

never  less ;  let  the  water  be  dew,  rain,  snow,  or  artificially  pro 
duced  in  the  laboratory,  its  composition  is  always  determinate, 
even  to  the  fraction.  In  any  piece  of  flint  every  100  parts  will 
be  composed  of  48'2  of  silicon  and  51'8  of  oxygen ;  never  more, 
never  less.  But  this  is  not  the  case  with  organic  substances 
(those  at  least  which  we  ventured  to  distinguish  as  teleorganic 
substances),*  which  are  indeterminate  in  composition.  Elemen 
tary  analyses  do  not  yield  constant  results,  as  do  the  analvses  of 
inorganic  substances.  Nerve-tissue,  for  example,  contains  both 
phosphorus  and  water,  as  constituent  elements  ;  but  the  quantity 
of  these  elements  varies  within  certain  limits ;  some  nerve-tissues 
have  more  phosphorus ;  some  more  water ;  and  according  to 
these  variations  in  the  composition  will  be  the  variations  in  the 
nervous  force  evolved.  This  is  the  reason  why  brains  differ  so 
enormously  even  when  their  volumes  are  equal.  The  brain  dif 
fers  at  different  ages,  and  in  different  individuals.  Sometimes 
water  constitutes  three-fourths  of  the  whole  weight,  sometimes 
four-fifths,  and  sometimes  even  seven-eighths.  The  phosphorus 
varies  from  O'SO  to  1-65,  and  1'80;  the  cerebral  fat  varies  from 
3-45  to  5'30,  and  even  6-10.  These  facts  will  help  to  explain 
many  of  the  striking  exceptions  to  phrenological  observations 
(such,  for  example,  as  the  manifest  superiority  of  some  small 
brains  over  some  large  brains),  and  are,  indeed,  included  within 
the  comprehensive  formula  constantly  advanced  by  phrenologists 
that  "size  is  a  measure  of  power,  other  things  being  equal."  In 
this  formula  there  is  a  truth,  and  an  equivoque.  The  truth  may 
be  passed  over  by  us,  as  claiming  instantaneous  assent.  The 
equivoque  must  arrest  us.  Phrenologists  forget  that  here  "  the 
other  things"  never  are  equal ;  and  consequently  their  dictum, 

*  Matter  is  divided  into  Inorganic  and  Organic  ;  in  1853 1  proposed  a  mod 
ification  of  this  division  into— 1.  Anorganic ;  2.  Merorganic;  and  3.  Tele- 
organic:  the  first  including  those  usually  styled  inorganic;  the  second  in 
cluding  those  substances  in  an  intermediate  state,  either  wanting  some 
addition  to  become  living,  or  having  lost  some  elements,  and  passed  from 
the  vital  state  into  that  of  product ;  the  third  including  only  the  truly  vital 
substances. 


CKANIOSCOPY.  759 

"  size  is  a  measure  of  power,"  is  without  application.  There 
never  is  equality  in  the  things  compared,  because  two  brains  ex 
actly  similar  in  size,  and  external  configuration,  will  nevertheless 
differ  in  elementary  composition.  The  difference  may  be  slight, 
but  however  slight,  it  materially  affects  the  result.  The  differ 
ence  of  elementary  composition  brings  with  it  a  difference  in 
development ;  and  by  development,  I  do  not  mean  growth,  but 
differentiation*  Parallel  with  these  differences,  not  appreciable 
by  any  means  in  the  phrenologist's  power,  there  are  psychologi 
cal  differences,  resulting  from  the  effect  of  education.  So  that 
to  say  "size  is  the  measure  of  power,"  is  as  vague  as  to  say  "  age 
is  the  measure  of  wisdom  ;"  because,  although  it  is  true  that  size 
is  an  index  of  power,  and,  other  things  being  equal,  the  greater 
the  brain  the  greater  the  mental  power,  it  is  equally  true,  that 
age  and  experience  in  minds  of  equal  capacity  will  produce  pro 
portionate  wisdom  :  unfortunately  we  cannot  get  minds  of  equal 
capacity  placed  under  the  same  conditions  ;  and  thus  it  happens 
that  we  find  some  men  with  large  brains  inferior  to  others  with 
much  smaller  brains,  and  men  of  patriarchal  length  of  years  more 
unwise  than  their  nephews. 

And,  in  a  less  degree,  this  is  true  of  size,  taken  as  the  measure 
of  power,  between  one  organ  and  another  in  the  same  brain. 
Failing  utterly  when  two  different  brains  are  compared,  the  indi 
cation  of  size  will  be  no  more  than  approximative  when  two 
parts  of  the  same  brain  are  compared ;  although  in  this  case  the 
other  things  are  necessarily  more  nearly  equal :  it  is  the  same 
nerve-tissue,  the  same  temperament  we  are  dealing  with.  In  a 
given  brain,  therefore,  we  may  reasonably  expect  to  find  that  any 
one  organ  which  is  larger  in  size  than  another,  will  be  more 
powerful  in  function.  But  although  this,  as  an  empirical  gener 
alization,  is  a  valuable  indication,  it  is  by  no  means  certain,  be 
cause  there  may  be,  and  indeed  usually  is,  a  difficulty  thrown  in 

*  I  have  explained,  at  some  length,  the  relation  of  growth  and  develop 
ment  in  an  article  on  Dwarfs  and  Giants,  in  Frazer's  Magazine  for  August 
and  September,  1856. 


760  PHRENOLOGY. 

the  way  by  the  inappreciable  yet  potent  differences  of  development 
which  have  taken  place.  Differentiations  occur  in  two  direc 
tions,  in  elementary  composition  and  in  morphological  develop 
ment.  One  brain  may  have  more  phosphorus  than  another; 
and  in  the  same  brain  one  organ  may  be  vesicular  or  more  fibrous 
than  another.  Thus  it  by  no  means  follows  that  a  man  with  re 
flective  organs  large  in  size,  shall  have  so  exercised  these  organs 
as  to  have  brought  their  development  into  proportional  advance  ; 
while  on  the  other  -hand  his  smaller  imaginative  organs  may 
have  been  so  developed  by  culture  and  exercise,  as  to  have  placed 
them  on  a  par  in  efficiency  with  the  reflectives.  Daily  expe 
rience  assures  us  that  such  is  the  case ;  and  the  philosophic 
phrenologist  might  point  to  it  as  one  explanation  of  the  many 
exceptions  which  Cranioscopy  must  necessarily  encounter  in  its 
attempt  to  read  character  according  to  external  indications. 

This  is  not  the  place  for  an  examination  of  Phrenology  as  an 
Art,  or  as  a  Science.  I  content  myself,  therefore,  with  the  fore 
going  indication  of  what  I  believe  to  be  the  true  position  of 
Cranioscopy,  and  some  of  the  difficulties  which  beset  it.  That 
the  collection  of  observed  correspondences  between  certain  con 
figurations  of  the  skull  and  certain  mental  characteristics,  is  a 
worthy  task,  and  one  which  must  materially  aid  the  science  of 
Psychology,  I  do  not  think  would  be  denied  by  any  philosopher, 
if  it  were  undertaken  with  that  subsidiary  aim  ;  but  when  phrenol 
ogists  obtrude  their  "  system"  on  the  notice  of  philosophers, 
declaring  it  to  be  a  completed  science  of  Psychology,  and  a 
true  method  of  reading  character,  they  must  not  be  surprised  if 
contradiction  meet  them  on  all  sides,  and  if  this  contradiction 
often  speak  the  language  of  contempt :  since  daily  experience 
cannot  sanction  the  present  pretensions  of  the  Art,  because  the 
Art  is  found  to  be  constantly  at  fault ;  nor  can  psychologists 
recognize  the  pretensions  of  the  Science. 


PHRENOLOGY   AS   A    SCIENCE.  761 

§  IV.  PHRENOLOGY  AS  A  SCIENCE. 

To  defend  their  Art,  phrenologists  are  compelled  to  recur  to 
their  Doctrine,  founded  on  the  physiology  of  the  nervous  sys 
tem,  and  on  a  psychological  classification  of  the  faculties.  Indeed, 
while  on  the  one  hand  we  find  every  phrenologist  since  Gall, 
Spurzheim,  and  Vimont,  occupied  entirely  with  Cranioscopy,  and 
many  even  speaking  with  disdain  of  anatomists  and  physiolo 
gists  ;  on  the  other  hand  we  find  them  anxious  to  bring  forward 
physiological  and  pathological  evidence,  whenever  that  evidence 
favors  their  views ;  and  we  hear  them  confidently  assert  that 
Phrenology  is  the  only  true  Physiology  of  the  nervous  system. 
This  latter  assertion  I  am  quite  willing  to  echo,  if  the  terms  be 
somewhat  modified,  and  the  phrase  run  thus :  "Phrenology  aspires 
to  be  the  true  Physiology  of  the  nervous  system ;  when  that 
Physiology  is  complete,  Phrenology  will  be  complete."  But  for 
the  present  we  find  Physiology  confessing  its  incompleteness — 
confessing  itself  in  its  infancy  ;  whereas  Phrenology  claims  to  be 
complete,  equipped,  full-statured  !  Rightly  considered,  that  very 
claim  is  a  condemnation  of  Phrenology,  as  at  present  understood. 
The  pretension  of  being  a  perfect  or  nearly  perfect  system,  surely 
implies  a  profound  ignorance  of  the  subject,  an  entire  misconcep 
tion  of  the  complexity  of  the  problem  it  pretends  to  have  solved. 
At  a  time  when  Science  is  unable  to  solve  the  problem  of  three 
gravitating  bodies,  phrenologists  pretend  to  find  no  difficulty  in 
calculating  the  result  of  forces  so  complex  as  those  which  con 
stitute  character :  at  a  time  when  the  nervous  system  is  confessed, 
by  all  who  have  studied  it,  to  be  extremely  ill-understood,  the 
functions  of  that  system  are  supposed  to  be  established ;  at  a 
time  when  Physiology  is  so  rapidly  advancing  that  every  decade 
renders  most  books  antiquated,  a  Psychology  professedly  founded 
on  that  advancing  science  remains  immovable  ! 

Gall  was  on  the  right  path  when  he  entitled  his  first  great 
work  Anatomy  and  Physiology  of  the  Nervous  System*  His 

*  "Quiconque,"  he  says,  "est  convaincu  que  la  structure  des  parties  du 


762  PHRENOLOGY. 

successors  have  quitted  that  path.  In  spite  of  his  emphatic  dec 
larations,  when  he  was  engaged  in  his  exposition  of  the  anatomy 
and  physiology  of  the  nervous  system,*  declarations  of  the  neces 
sity  there  was  always  to  make  the  study  of  organ  and  function 
go  hand  in  hand,  so  that  he  would  only  have  his  labors  regarded 
"  as  the  basis  of  an  essay  towards  a  more  perfect  work  ;"  in  spite, 
we  say,  of  every  philosophical  consideration,  his  successors  have 
neglected  Physiology  for  Cranioscopy ;  not  one  of  them  has 
made  or  attempted  to  make  any  discovery  or  extension  of  dis 
covery  in  the  direction  Gall  so  successfully  opened ;  and  the 
result  of  this  neglect  has  been  twofold — first,  that  since  Gall  and 
Spurzheim,  Phrenology  has  not  taken  a  single  step ;  second,  that 
all  the  eminent  physiologists  of  Europe  who  have  devoted  them 
selves  to  the  study  of  the  nervous  system,  unanimously  reject  a 
theory  which  does  not  keep  pace  with  the  advance  of  science. 
It  is  very  easy  for  phrenologists  to  disregard  the  unanimous 
opposition  of  physiologists,  and  to  place  this  opposition  to  the 
account  of  prejudice,  or  the  "not  having  sufficiently  studied 
Phrenology ;"  but  an  impartial  on-looker  sees  clearly  enough 
that,  making  every  allowance  for  prejudice,  the  opposition  rests 
mainly  on  the  discrepancy  between  the  facts  stated  by  phrenol 
ogists  and  the  facts  which  Science  has  hitherto  registered.  Had 
phrenologists  kept  themselves  acquainted  with  what  was  grad 
ually  being  discovered  by  physiologists,  they  would  have  seen 
that  something  more  than  prejudice  must  be  at  work  when  all 
the  eminent  neurologists,  such  as  Serres,  Flourens,  Majendie, 
Leuret,  Longet,  Lelut,  Lafargue,  Bouillaud,  Baillarger,  Miiller, 
Valentin,  and  comparative  anatomists  such  as  Owen,  declare 
against  Phrenology ;  although  every  one  of  these  is  ready  to 
admit  the  importance  of  Gall's  method  of  dissection,  ready  to 
incorporate  whatever  results  Gall  arrived  at,  which  can  be  in  any 

cerveau  a  un  rapport  necessaire  et  immediat  avec  leurs  functions,  trouvera 
qu'il  est  naturel  de  reunir  ces  deux  objects  1'un  a  1'autre,  en  los  considerant 
et  en  les  traitant  comme  un  seul  et  m6rae  corps  de  doctrine." — An.  et  Phys., 
pref.  xxv. 
*  Compare  his  Anal,  et  Pliys.  dn  Syst.  Nerveux,  i.  95  and  271. 


PHRENOLOGY    AS    A    SCIENCE.  763 

way  confirmed.  I  do  not  blame  phrenologists  for  having  ren 
dered  no  assistance  to  Physiology  by  their  own  labors ;  but  I 
am  forced  to  point  out  the  historical  consequences  of  their  hav 
ing  neglected  to  follow  the  path  commenced  by  Gall,  and  devi 
ated  into  that  of  simple  Cranioscopy.  The  neglect  of  which 
they  complain,  is  entirely  owing  to  their  presenting  a  rude  sketch 
as  a  perfect  science,  and  to  their  keeping  behind  the  science  of 
their  day,  instead  of  on  a  level  with  it.  Impatient  of  contradic 
tion,  they  shut  their  eyes  to  difficulties ;  unable  to  accommodate 
their  principles  to  the  principles  of  Physiology,  they  contempt 
uously  dismiss  objections  as  "  merely  theoretical,"  and  fall  back 
upon  their  "  well-established  facts." 

Gall  undertook  a  gigantic  task.  He  produced  a  revolution, 
and  his  name  will  always  live  in  the  history  of  Science.  It  is 
idle  to  attempt  to  undervalue  his  work  by  citing  his  predecessors. 
Others  before  him  had  thought  of  localizing  the  different  facul 
ties  in  different  parts  of  the  brain.  He  and  Spurzheim  have 
mentioned  such  predecessors.*  These,  however,  are  very  vague, 
unfertile  conceptions ;  they  in  no  way  lessen  Gall's  originality. 
A  nearer  approach  is  to  be  read  in  Prochaska,  whom  Gall  often 
mentions,  although  he  does  not,  I  think,  mention  this  particular 
anticipation.  It  is  the  third  section  of  chapter  five,  and  is  enti 
tled.  "  Do  each  of  the  divisions  of  the  intellect  occupy  a  sepa 
rate  portion  of  the  brain  ?"  and  it  concludes  thus :  "  It  is  by  no 
means  improbable  that  each  division  of  the  intellect  has  its  allot 
ted  organ  in  the  brain,  so  that  there  is  one  for  the  perceptions, 
another  for  the  understanding,  probably  others  also  for  the  will 
and  imagination  and  memory,  which  act  wonderfully  in  concert 
and  mutually  excite  each  other  to  action.  The  organ  of  imagi 
nation,  however,  amongst  the  rest  will  be  far  apart  from  the 
organ  of  perceptions.''!  How  far  this  general  supposition  of  a 


*  Fonctions  du  Cerveau,  ii.  350  sq.  Compare  also  Lelut:  Rejet  de  V  Orga- 
nologia,  p.  21  sq.,  and  Prochaska,  p.  374  sq. 

t  Prochaska,  p.  447.  There  is  a  remarkable  passage,  too  long  for  quotation 
here,  in  Willis's  Cerebri  Anatome,  c.  x.  p.  125,  on  the  convolutions  as  indi- 


764  PHRENOLOGY. 

"  probability"  is  from  Gall's  specific  attempt  to  localize  the  or 
gans,  need  not  be  pointed  out.  The  attempt  was  far  from  being 
fully  successful ;  but,  as  a  tentative,  it  was  truly  philosophical, 
and  produced  a  revolution. 

Having  once  conceived  the  brain  to  be  an  apparatus  of  organs, 
not  a  single  organ,  the  problem  was  to  analyze  this  apparatus 
into  its  constituent  organs,  and  to  assign  to  each  its  special  func 
tion.  In  this  difficult  problem  Gall,  by  the  necessities  of  his  po 
sition  as  a  system-founder,  was  forced  to  proceed  on  a  false 
method,  namely,  that  of  determining  the  separate  organs  accord 
ing  to  a  purely  physiological  and  superficial  analysis,  instead  of 
subordinating  this  analysis  to  anatomical  verification.  It  is  this 
arbitrary  and  unscientific  proceeding  which  has  made  all  anato 
mists  reject  the  system.  What  would  he  have  said  to  a  physi 
ologist  who,  knowing  that  the  liver  formed  bile  and  sugar,  should 
have  assigned  the  function  of  bile-formation  to  one  lobe,  and 
the  function  of  sugar-formation  to  another  lobe,  no  structural  dif 
ferences  having  been  observed  ?  or  who  should  assign  to  the 
different  lobules  of  the  kidney  functions  as  different  as  are  as 
signed  to  the  different  convolutions  of  the  brain  ?  It  is  perfectly 
true  that  from  inspection  of  an  organ  no  idea  of  its  function  can 
be  obtained  ;  and  this  truth  has  blinded  phrenologists  who  are 
not  physiologists  to  the  necessity  of  nevertheless  always  making 
anatomy  the  basis  of  every  physiological  analysis.  No  inspection  of 
the  alimentary  canal  could  disclose  to  us  that  its  function  was  that 
of  digestion.  Nevertheless  the  function  of  digestion,  except  in 
the  crude  conception  of  ordinary  men,  is  only  intelligible  after  a 
rigorous  analysis  of  the  several  processes,  buccal,  stomachal,  and 
intestinal;  for  the  intelligence  of  each  of  which,  we  must  assign 
to  each  gland  its  specific  secretion,  and  to  each  secretion  its  spe 
cific  action  :  a  physiologist  who  should  attempt  the  explanation 
of  digestion  on  any  other  mode  would  justly  be  slighted  by  every 

eating  intellectual  superiority.  I  give  only  the  opening  ;  "  Plicae  sunt  con- 
volutiones  cerebri  longe  plures  ac  majores  inhominesunt  quim  inquovisalio 
animali,  nempd  propter  varies  et  multiplies  faoultatum  supcriorum  aclus." 


PHRENOLOGY    AS    A    SCIENCE.  765 

good  biologist  in  Europe.  If  Phrenology  is  the  Physiology  of 
the  nervous  system,  it  must  givre  up  Gall's  approximative  method 
for  a  method  more  rigorously  scientific ;  and  as  Auguste  Comte 
justly  remarks,  phrenologists,  before  they  can  take  rank  among 
men  of  science,  must "  reprendre,  par  uue  serie  derecte  de  travaux 
anatorniques,  Fanalyse  fondamentale  de  1'appareil  cerebral,  en 
faisant  provisoirement  abstraction  de  toute  idee  de  fonctions."* 

One  of  the  fundamental  questions  which  must  be  answered  by 
this  anatomical  analysis,  is  that  which  no  phrenologist  condescends 
to  ask,  namely,  Are  the  convolutions  the  seat  of  intelligence  ?  in 
other  words,  Is  the  gray  vesicular  matter  which  forms  the  surface 
of  the  brain,  the  sole  and  specific  seat  of  those  changes  on  which 
all  mental  phenomena  depend  ?  This  is  a  question  which  Crani- 
oscopy  may  ignore,  since  the  facts  on  which  Cranioscopy  is 
founded  are  little  if  at  all  affected  by  it.  To  Phrenology  the  ques 
tion  is  initial,  all-important;  because  if  the  "Physiology  of  the 
nervous  system"  should  turn  out  defective  in  its  basis,  the  whole 
scaffolding  will  have  to  be  erected  anew.  I  put  the  question  in 
two  forms,  because  although  it  is  commonly  said  that  the  convo 
lutions  of  the  brain  form  the  organs,  yet  as  many  animals  are  alto 
gether  without  convolutions,  the  vesicular  surface,  whether  convo 
luted  or  not,  must  be  understood  as  the  seat  of  mental  changes ; 
the  convolutions  being  only  a  mode  of  increasing  the  surface. 

As  the  space  at  my  disposal  is  inadequate  to  any  exhaustive 
discussion  of  this  important  question,  the  reader  will  be  satisfied 
with  a  brief  indication  of  the  doubt  which  Physiology  forces  me 
to  express  respecting  the  convolutions  as  the  specific  seat  of  men 
tal  manifestations.  I  cannot  reconcile  the  current  opinion  on 
that  subject  with  anatomical  and  zoological  facts.  I  believe  that 
the  vesicular  matter  which  constitutes  the  convolutions,  is  only 
one  factor  in  the  sum ;  it  would,  however,  lead  me  too  far  to 
enter  on  the  discussion,  which  might  be  objected  to  as  at  present 
only  hypothetical. 

*Coursde  Philosophie  Positive,  iii.  821.  Comte  13  much  more  favorable  to  Gall 
than  I  am,  yet  see  his  remarks  on  the  multiplication  of  the  faculties,  p.  823  sq. 


766  PHRENOLOGY. 

Quitting  all  hypothetical  considerations  for  the  less  questiona 
ble  evidence  of  facts,  I  find  M.  Baillarger* — who  invented  a 
new  method  of  measuring  the  surfaces  of  brains,  by  dissecting 
out  all  the  white  substance  from  their  interior,  and  then  unfold 
ing  the  exterior,  and  taking  a  cast  of  it — declaring  from  his  meas 
urements  that  it  is  far  from  true  that  in  general  the  intelligence 
of  different  animals  is  in  direct  proportion  to  their  respective 
extents  of  cerebral  surface.  If  their  absolute  extents  of  surface 
be  taken,  the  rule  is  manifestly  untrue  in  many  instances ;  and  it 
is  not  more  true  if  the  extent  of  surface  in  proportion  to  the  vol 
ume  of  the  brain  be  regarded  ;  for  the  human  brain  has  less 
superficial  extent  in  proportion  to  its  volume  than  that  of  many 
inferior  mammalia:  its  volume  is  two  and  a  half  times  as 
great  in  proportion  to  its  surface,  as  it  is  in  the  rabbit,  for 
example. 

Nor  is  this  all.  The  researches  of  M.  Camille  Darestef  estab 
lish  beyond  dispute  that  the  number  and  depth  of  the  convolu 
tions  bear  no  direct  relation  to  the  development  of  intelligence  ; 
whereas  they  do  bear  a  direct  relation  to  the  size  of  the  animal ; 
so  that,  given  the  size  of  the  animal  in  any  genus,  he  can  predict 
the  degree  of  convoluted  development;  or  given  the  convolutions, 
he  can  predict  the  size  :  "  toutes  les  especes  a  cerveau  lisse  ont 
une  petite  taille  ;  toutes  les  especes  a  circonvolutions  nombreuses 
et  compliquees  sont,  au  contraire,  de  gran  detaille."  Further,  I 
am  informed  by  Professor  Owen  that  the  grampus  has  convolu 
tions  deeper  and  more  complicated  than  those  of  man.  From  all 
which  facts  it  becomes  evident  that  the  phrenological  basis  is  so 
far  from  being  in  accordance  with  the  present  state  of  our  know 
ledge  of  the  nervous  system  as  to  require  complete  revision. 

Phrenology  has  another  important  point  to  determine,  namely, 
the  relation  of  the  size  of  the  brain  to  mental  power.  Is  the  size 
of  the  brain  to  be  taken  absolutely,  and  its  functional  activity  in 

*  Gazette  Medicate,  19  April,  1845.  Pagct :  Report  on  the  Progress  of  Anat 
omy,  in  British  and  Foreign  Med.  Rev.  July,  1846. 

t  Aimalesdes  Sciences  Naturelles,  3*  serie,  xvii.  80,  and  4c  serie,  i.  73. 


PHRENOLOGY    AS    A   SCIENCE.  767 

the  purely  mental  direction  to  be  measured  by  its  absolute  bulk  ? 
A  galvanic  battery  of  fifty  plates  is  five  times  as  powerful  as  a  bat 
tery  of  ten  plates  ;  a  cord  of  twenty  threads  is  five  times  as  strong 
as  a  cord  of  four  threads,  other  things  equal ;  and, .in  like  manner, 
we  should  expect  that  a  brain  of  fifty  ounces  would  be  twice  as 
powerful  as  one  of  twenty-five  ounces  (the  limits  are  really  greater 
than  these).  Nevertheless,  we  find  no  such  absolute  and  constant 
relation  between  size  and  mental  power  as  would  justify  the 
phrenological  position ;  the  weight  of  the  human  brain  being 
about  three  pounds  5  the  weight  of  the  whale's  brain  being  five 
pounds;  the  weight  of  the  elephant's  between  eight  and  ten 
pounds.  If  therefore  the  function  of  the  brain  be  solely  or  mainly 
that  of  mental  manifestation,  and  if  size  be  the  measure  of 
power,  the  whale  and  the  elephant  ought  to  surpass  man,  as  a 
Newton  surpasses  an  idiot.  If  on  the  contrary  the  brain,  as  a 
nervous  centre,  has  other  functions  besides  that  of  mental  mani 
festation,  these  discrepancies  can  be  explained,  although  Phrenol 
ogy  must  take  these  other  functions  into  account.* 

It  is  true  that  phrenologists  have  been  aware  of  these  discrep 
ancies;  and,  unable  to  admit  the  whale  and  elephant  as  superior 
to  man,  they  have  met  the  objection  by  saying  the  size  must  be 
estimated  relatively,  not  absolutely.  Compared  with  the  weight 
of  his  body,  the  brain  of  man  is  certainly  heavier  than  the  brains 
of  most  animals,  including  the  whale  and  the  elephant ;  and  this 
fact  seems  to  restore  Phrenology  to  its  cheerfulness  on  the  sub 
ject  ;  but  the  fact  does  not  hold  good  of  monkeys,  the  smaller 
apes,  many  species  of  birds,  and  some  rodents.  This  is  the  dilem 
ma  :  either  the  ratio  of  mental  power  depends  on  the  absolute 
size  of  the  brain,  and  in  this  case  the  elephant  will  be  thrice 
as  intelligent  as  man ;  or  it  depends  on  the  relative  size  of  the 
brain  compared  with  the  body,  and  in  this  case  man  will  be  less 
intelligent  than  a  monkey  or  a  rat,  although  more  intelligent  than 

*  I  have  sketched  the  relations  of  the  brain  to  the  body  in  the  paper 
before  referred  to,  on  Dwarfs  and  Giants.  See  Fraze^s  Mag.,  Sept.  1856, 
p.  289. 


768  PHRENOLOGY. 

the  elephant.  Moreover,  if  relative  size  is  the  basis  taken,  phre 
nologists  would  be  bound  to  compare  in  each  case  the  weight  of 
the  brain  with  the  weight  of  the  body,  before  they  could  establish 
a  conclusion  ;  and  this  is  obviously  impracticable.  I  have  stated 
the  dilemma ;  but  having  stated  it,  I  will  add  that  although  phre 
nologists  attach  importance  to  questions  of  weight  of  the  brain, 
there  seems  to  me  a  great  fallacy  involved  in  such  estimates.  Intel 
ligence  is  not  to  be  measured  by  the  balance.  Weight  is  no  index 
of  cerebral  activity,  nor  of  the  special  directions  of  the  activity. 

Enough  has  been  said  to  show  that  Phrenology,  so  far  from  at 
present  being  the  only  true  physiological  explanation  of  the  ner 
vous  system,  is  in  so  chaotic  and  unstable  a  position  with  respect 
to  its  basis,  as  to  need  thorough  revision ;  and  until  some 
phrenologist  shall  arise  who,  following  up  the  impulsion  given  by 
Gall,  can  once  more  place  the  doctrine  on  a  le^el  with  the  science 
of  the  age,  all  men  of  science  must  be  expected  to  slight  the  pre 
tensions  of  Phrenology  as  a  psychological  system,  whatever  it  may 
hereafter  become.  That  a  new  Gall  will  some  day  arise  I  have 
little  doubt,  for  I  am  convinced  that  Psychology  must  be  establish 
ed  on  a  physiological  basis.  Meanwhile,  for  the  purposes  of  this 
History,  it  suffices  to  have  indicated  the  nature  of  Gall's  innova 
tion,  and  the  course  of  inquiry  he  opened.  As  a  psychological  clas 
sification,  the  one  now  adopted  in  Phrenology  can  only  be  regarded 
in  the  light  of  a  tentative  sketch  ;  superior  indeed  to  those  which 
preceded  it, but  one  which  daily  experience  shows  to  be  insufficient. 

To  conclude  this  chapter,  we  may  point  to  Gall  as  having 
formed  an  epoch  in  the  History  of  Philosophy  by  inaugurating 
a  new  Method.  From  the  time  when  Philosophy  itself  became 
reduced  to  a  question  of  Psychology,  in  order  that  a  basis  might, 
if  possible,  be  laid,  the  efforts  of  men  were  variously  directed, 
and  all  ended  in  skepticism  and  dissatisfaction,  because  a  true 
psychological  Method  did  not  guide  them.  The  history  of  the 
tentatives  towards  a  true  Method  has  been  sketched  in  various 
chapters  of  this  volume,  and  with  Gall  that  Method  may  be  said 
to  have  finally  settled  its  fundamental  principles. 


ELEVENTH  EPOCH. 


PHILOSOPHY  FINALLY  RELINQUISHING  ITS  PLACE  IN  FAYOR 
OF  POSITIVE  SCIENCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ECLECTICISM. 

"  Nous  ne  croyons  pas  les  choses  parce  qu'elles  sont  vraies," 
says  Pascal,  "mais  nous  les  croyons  vraies  parce  que  nous  les 
aimons."  This  is  one  ever-present  obstacle  to  the  progress  of 
mankind.  We  do  not  love  truth  because  it  is  true,  but  because 
it  seems  to  countenance  other  opinions  which  we  believe  necessary 
to  our  well-being.  Only  a  few  philosophic  minds  have  strength 
enough  to  detach  their  eyes  from  consequences,  and  concentrate 
all  their  attention  on  Truth ;  and  these  few  can  only  do  so  in 
virtue  of  their  steadfast  conviction  that  Truth  can  never  be  really 
injurious,  whatever  phantoms  apprehensive  ignorance  may  con 
jure  up  around  it. 

The  reaction  against  the  Philosophy  of  the  eighteenth  century 
was  not  a  reaction  against  a  doctrine  proved  to  be  incompetent, 
but  against  a  doctrine  believed  to  be  the  source  of  frightful  im 
morality.  The  reaction  was  vigorous  because  it  was  animated 
by  the  horror  which  agitated  Europe  at  the  hideous  excesses  of 
the  French  Revolution.  Associated  in  men's  minds  with  the 
saturnalia  of  the  Terror,  the  philosophical  opinions  of  Condillac, 
Diderot,  and  Cabanis  were  held  responsible  for  the  crimes  of  the 
Convention ;  and  what  might  be  true  in  those  opinions  was 
flung  aside  with  what  was  false,  without  discrimination,  without 

33 


770  ECLECTICISM. 

analysis,  in  fierce  impetuous  disgust.  Every  opinion  which  had 
what  was  called  "a  taint  of  materialism,"  or  seemed  to  point  in 
that  direction,  was  denounced  as  an  opinion  necessarily  leading 
to  the  destruction  of  all  Religion,  Morality,  and  Government. 
Every  opinion  which  seemed  to  point  in  the  direction  of  spirit 
ualism  was  eagerly  welcomed,  promulgated,  and  lauded ;  not 
because  it  was  demonstrably  true,  but  because  it  was  supposed 
capable  of  preserving  social  order.  And  indeed  when,  looking 
back  upon  those  times,  we  contemplate  the  misery  and  anarchy 
which  disgraced  what  was  an  inevitable  movement,  and  dimmed 
what  was  really  noble  in  the  movement,  we  can  understand  how 
generous  hearts  and  minds,  fluctuating  in  perplexity,  did  instinct 
ively  revolt  not  only  against  the  Revolution,  but  against  all  the 
principles  which  were  ever  invoked  by  the  revolutionists.  Look 
ing  at  the  matter  from  this  distance,  we  can  see  clearly  enough 
that  "  materialism"  had  really  no  more  to  do  with  the  Revolu 
tion  than  Christianity  had  to  do  with  the  hideous  scenes  in 
which  the  Anabaptists  were  actors ;  but  we  can  understand  how 
indelible  was  the  association  of  Revolution  and  materialism  in 
the  minds  of  that  generation. 

So  profoundly  influential  has  this  association  been,  that  a  cel 
ebrated  surgeon  of  our  own  day  perilled  his  position  by  advo 
cating  an  opinion,  now  universally  accepted,  but  then  generally 
shuddered  at;  namely,  that  the  brain  is  the  "organ"  of  the 
mind.  He  had  to  retract  that  opinion,  which  the  pious  Hartley 
and  many  others  had  advanced  without  offence.  He  had  to 
retract  it,  not  because  it  was  scientifically  untenable,  but  because 
it  was  declared  to  be  morally  dangerous.  It  was  '•  materialism," 
and  materialism  "  led"  to  the  destruction  of  all  morality.  Al 
though  every  man  now  believes  the  brain  to  be  veritably  the 
organ  of  the  mind,  the  word  materialism  is  still  used  as  a  bug 
bear.  Instead  of  being  refuted  as  false,  it  is  by  many  denounced 
as  dangerous.  I  believe  the  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth  cen 
tury  to  be  dangerous  because  false  ;  the  writers  to  whom  I  allude 
declare  it  false  because  they  believe  it  dangerous.  I  believe  it 


ECLECTICISM.  771 

also  to  be  in  many  respects  healthful,  because  in  many  respects 
true ;  and  it  would  be  uncandid  in  me  not  to  declare  that  if  I 
oppose  the  eighteenth  century  doctrine,  I  believe  the  spiritualism 
which  denounces  it  is  even  more  incomplete  as  a  philosophy,  and 
consequently  even  more  dangerous  in  its  influence. 

The  history  of  the  reaction  in  France  is  very  instructive,  but 
it  would  require  more  space  than  can  here  be  given  adequately 
to  narrate  the  story.*  Four  streams  of  influence  converged  into 
one,  all  starting  from  the  same  source,  namely,  horror  at  the 
revolutionary  excesses.  The  Catholics,  with  the  great  Joseph 
de  Maistre  and  M.  de  Bonald  at  their  head,  appealed  to  the  relig 
ious  sentiments;  the  Royalists,  with  Chateaubriand  and  Madame 
de  Stael,  appealed  to  the  monarchical  and  literary  sentiments ; 
the  metaphysicians,  with  Laromiguiere  and  Maine  de  Brian,  and 
the  moralists  with  Royer-Collard,  one  and  all  attacked  the  weak 
points  of  Sensationalism,  and  prepared  the  way  for  the  enthusi 
astic  reception  of  the  Scotch  and  German  philosophies.  A 
glance  at  almost  any  of  these  writers  will  suffice  to  convince  the 
student  that  their  main  purpose  is  to  defend  morality  and  order, 
which  they  believe  to  be  necessarily  imperilled  by  the  philosophy 
they  attack.  The  appeals  to  the  prejudices  and  sentiments  are 
abiding.  Eloquence  is  made  to  supply  the  deficiencies  of  argu 
ment;  emotion  takes  the  place  of  demonstration.  The  hearer 
is  charmed,  roused,  dazzled.  He  learns  to  associate  all  the  nobler 
sentiments  with  spiritualistic  doctrines,  and  all  grovelling  ideas 
with  materialistic  doctrines ;  till  the  one  school  becomes  insep 
arably  linked  in  his  mind  with  emotions  of  reverence  for  what 
ever  is  lofty,  profound,  and  noble,  and  the  other  with  emotions 
of  contempt  for  whatever  is  shallow  and  unworthy.  The  leaders 
of  the  reaction  were  men  of  splendid  talent?,  and  their  work  was 
eminently  successful.  But  now  that  the  heats  of  controversy 
have  cooled,  and  all  these  debates  have  become  historical,  we 


*  The  reader  may  consult  on  this  topic  Damiron,  Essai  sur  V Histoire  de  la 
PldlosopJde  en  France  an  XlXitme  Slede  ;  and  Taine,  Les  Plulosophes  Fran- 
ais  du  XlXleme  Siccle. 


7  <  Z  ECLECTICISM. 

who  look  at  them  from  a  distance  can  find  in  them  no  philosoph 
ical  progress,  no  new  elements  added  which  could  assist  the  evo 
lution  of  Philosophy  and  form  a  broader  basis  for  future  monu 
ments.  In  political  and  literary  History  these  attempts  would 
claim  a  conspicuous  position ;  in  the  History  of  Philosophy  they 
deserve  mention  only  as  having  made  mankind  aware  of  the 
limited  nature  of  the  eighteenth  century  philosophy,  and  its  ex 
traordinary  lacuna.  Their  office  was  critical,  and  has  been 
fulfilled. 

One  doctrine,  and  one  alone,  emerged  from  these  attempts, 
and  held  for  some  time  the  position  of  a  school.  It  made  a 
noise  in  its  day,  but  even  the  echoes  have  now  become  almost 
inaudible,  for  a  feebler  doctrine  scarcely  ever  obtained  acquies 
cence.  TVe  must,  nevertheless,  bestow  a  few  sentences  on  it  to 
make  our  history  complete.  Eclecticism  is  dead,  but  it  produced 
some  fjood  results,  if  only  by  the  impetus  it  gave  to  historical 
research,  and  by  the  confirmation  it  gave,  in  its  very  weakness, 
to  the  conclusion  that  an  a  priori  solution  of  transcendental 
problems  is  impossible.  For  Eclecticism  was  the  last  product  of 
philosophical  speculation,  the  gathering  together  of  all  that  phi 
losophers  had  achieved,  and  the  evolution  from  these  separate 
achievements  of  one  final  doctrine,  which  final  doctrine  is  itself 
rejected. 

Victor  Cousin  and  Thomas  Jouffroy  are  the  chiefs  of  this 
school,  one  a  brilliant  rhetorician  utterlv  destitute  of  originality, 
the  other  a  sincere  thinker,  whose  merits  have  been  thrown  into 
the  shade  by  his  brilliant  colleague.  As  a  man  of  letters,  M. 
Cousin  deserves  the  respect  which  attends  his  name,  if  we  except 
the  more  than  questionable  use  which  he  has  made  of  the  labors 
of  pupils  and  assistants  without  acknowledgment.  However, 
our  business  is  not  with  Cousin,  but  with  Eclecticism.  Royer- 
Collard  introduced  the  principles  of  the  Scotch  school,  to  combat 
with  them  the  principles  of  sensationalism.  Reid  and  Stewart 
were  translated  by  Jouffroy.  explained  and  developed  by  Royer- 
Collard.  Jouffroy,  and  Cousin.  The  talents  of  these  professors, 


ECLECTICISM.  4  ( 3 

aided  by  the  tendency  towards  any  reaction,  made  the  Scotch 
philosophy  dominant  in  France.  But  Victor  Cousin's  restless 
activity  led  him  to  the  study  of  Kant : — and  the  doctrines  of  the 
"Konigsberg  sage''  were  preached  by  him  with  the  same  ardor 
as  that  which  he  had  formerly  devoted  to  the  Scotch.  A.s  soon 
as  the  Parisians  began  to  know  something  of  Kant,  M.  Cousin 
started  off  to  Alexandria  for  a  doctrine  :  he  found  one  in  Proclus. 
He  edited  Proclus ;  lectured  on  him ;  borrowed  some  of  his 
ideas,  and  would  have  set  him  on  the  throne  of  Philosophy,  had 
the  public  been  willing.  A  trip  to  Germany  in  1824  made  him 
acquainted  with  the  modern  Proclus — Hegel.  On  his  return  to 
Paris  he  presented  the  public  with  as  much  of  Hegel's  doc 
trines  as  he  could  understand.  His  celebrated  Eclecticism  is 
nothing  but  a  misconception  of  Hegel's  HUtory  r>f  Philosophy, 
fenced  round  with  several  plausible  arguments. 

All  error,  M.  Cousin  repeatedly  enforces,  is  nothing  but  "  an 
incomplete  view  of  the  truth."  Upon  this  definition  is  based  the 
proposition  that  "  All  systems  are  incomplete  views  of  the  reality, 
set  up  for  complete  images  of  the  reality ."  The  conclusion  is 
obvious  :  "  All  systems  containing  a  mixture  of  truth  and  error 
have  only  to  be  brought  together,  and  then  the  error  would  be 
eliminated  by  the  mere  juxtaposition  of  system  with  system. 
The  truth  or  portion  of  the  truth  which  is  in  one  system  would 
be  assimilated  with  the  portions  of  the  truth  which  are  in  other 
systems ;  and  thus  the  work  would  be  easy  enough." 

Eclecticism,  therefore,  means  the  bringing  together  of  all  dis 
covered  truths  eliminated  from  their  accompanying  errors  ;  and 
out  of  this  body  of  truths  a  doctrine  is  to  be  elaborated.  A  great 
task  ;  but  is  it  practicable  I  The  system  is  based  on  the  defini 
tion  of  error  ;  by  that  it  must  stand  or  fail. 

The  definition  appears  to  us  altogether  untenable.  Error  is 
sometimes  an  incomplete  view  of  the  truth  ;  but  it  is  not  alurays: 
it  is  sometimes  no  view  of  the  truth  at  all,  but  a  mere  divergence 
from  it.  When  Xewton  constructed  his  theory  of  the  laws  of 
attraction,  and  interposed  an  ether  as  the  medium  through  which 


ECLECTICISM. 

they  operated,  he  had  an  incomplete  view  of  the  truth.  But 
when  Descartes  developed  his  theory  of  vortices,  he  was  quite 
wide  of  the  truth — he  was  altogether  wrong.  The  phrase  "  in 
complete  view"  is  indeed  so  vague,  that  men  who  sport  with 
verbal  subtleties  may  justify  the  theory  of  Descartes  as  an  incom 
plete  view  of  the  truth  ;  a  very  incomplete  view.  At  any  rate 
no  one  will  be  disposed  to  assert  that  by  the  mere  juxtaposition 
of  Newton's  doctrine  with  that  of  Descartes  he  could  in  any  way 
eliminate  the  error  that  is  in  both. 

If  therefore  all  systems  are  not  incomplete  views  of  the  reality 
— if  all  systems  do  not  contain  certain  portions  of  the  truth — how 
is  the  eclectic  to  decide  which  systems  are  available  for  his  pur 
pose,  which  philosophies  are  to  be  juxtaposed?  This  leads  to  the 
necessity  of  a  criterium.  M.  Jouffroy  tells  us  that  it  is  an  easy 
matter.  We  have  only  to  collect  all  the  systems  which  have 
ever  been  produced,  have  them  translated  and  arranged  in  their 
legitimate  order,  and  the  truths  discovered  by  each  will  become 
organized  in  one  doctrine. 

Without  stopping  to  ask  what  is  the  legitimate  order,  and  how 
we  are  to  know  it,  the  student  is  naturally  anxious  to  learn  by 
what  criterium  Eclecticism  proposes  to  judge  and  separate  truth 
from  error  in  any  system.  The  inquiry  is  pertinent.  It  is  easy 
to  bid  us  be  careful  in  separating  the  wheat  from  the  chaff,  that 
we  may  garner  it  up  in  the  storehouses  of  the  world.  Suppose 
the  farmer  does  not  know  the  wheat  when  he  sees  it,  what  crite 
rium  do  you  give  him  whereby  he  may  judge  wheat  to  be  wheat, 
not  chaff?  None.  The  philosopher  can  only  distinguish  the 
truth  in  two  ways  :  either  he  knows  it  already,  and  then  he  has 
what  he  is  seeking  ;  or  else  he  knows  it  by  its  relation  to  and 
accordance  with  those  truths  which  he  is  already  in  possession 
of.  That  is  to  say,  he  has  a  criterium  in  his  System  :  those 
views  which  range  under  it,  he  accepts  as  extensions  of  his 
knowledge  ;  those  which  range  beyond  its  limits,  he  denies  to  be 
true. 

Suppose  the  eclectic  places  in  juxtaposition  the   two  great 


ECLECTICISM.  775 

schools  which  have  always  divided  the  world,  viz.  that  which 
declares  experience  to  be  the  source  of  all  knowledge  ;  and  that 
which  declares  we  have  a  great  deal  of  our  knowledge  antece 
dent  to  and  independent  of  experience.  Both  of  these  systems 
he  pronounces  to  be  composed  of  truth  and  error.  lie  assumes 
this  ;  for  a  little  consideration  might  tell  him  that  it  is  utterly 
impossible  both  should  be  correct :  experience  either  is  or  is  not 
the  sole  fountain  of  knowledge.  The  difference  is  as  decided  as 
that  respecting  the  motion  of  the  earth,  or  the  motion  of  the 
sun.  Ptolemy  and  Copernicus :  choose  between  them ;  any 
compromise  is  impossible,  unless  you  wish  to  side  with  the  Sizar 
who,  when  the  question  was  put,  "  Does  the  earth  move  round 
the  sun,  or  the  sun  round  the  earth  ?"  replied,  "  Sometimes  one 
and  sometimes  the  other."  He  was  an  eclectic  apparently.  Let 
us  however  for  a  moment  grant  that  the  two  schools  of  Psychol 
ogy  are  both  partly  right  and  partly  wrong ;  we  then  ask,  What 
criterium  has  the  eclectic  whereby  to  distinguish  error  from 
truth  ?  He  has  none  ;  the  doctors  are  silent  on  the  point. 

That  men  derive  assistance  from  others,  and  that  those  who 
went  before  us  discovered  many  truths,  all  admit.  And  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  a  juxtaposition  and  comparison  of  various 
doctrines  would  be  of  service.  Eclecticism,  therefore,  as  a  sub 
sidiary  process  is  valuable  ;  and  has  always  been  practised.  M. 
Cousin  however  converts  this  subsidiary  process  into  a  primary 
one,  and  dignifies  it  with  the  attributes  of  a  Method.  In  the  one 
sense  it  is  simply  that  the  inquirer  consults  the  works  of  his  pre 
decessors,  and  selects  from  them  all  that  he  considers  true  :  viz. 
such  portions  as  confirm,  extend,  and  illustrate  his  previous  opin 
ions  ;  these  opinions  constituting  his  criterium.  Let  the  reader 
reflect  on  the  pertinacity  with  which  men  refuse  to  admit  views 
which  to  others  are  self-evident,  because  those  views  are  or  seem 
to  be  opposed  to  religion,  or  the  reigning  doctrine,  and  he  will 
clearly  enough  see  the  nature  of  this  criterium.  The  history  of 
opinion  is  crowded  with  instances  of  it.  M.  Cousin  however  does 
not  so  understand  Eclecticism.  He  savs  we  should  admit  all 


776  AUGUSTE   COMTE. 

systems  as  containing  some  truths;  and  these  truths  separate 
themselves  from  errors  by  the  mere  process  of  juxtaposition, 
somewhat  in  the  manner,  we  presume,  of  chemical  affinities. — 
A  theory  that  needs,  one  would  think,  no  further  refutation  than 
a  simple  statement  of  its  principles. 

Having  dismissed  Eclecticism  as  a  Method,  we  need  not  waste 
time  in  examining  M.  Cousin's  various  and  constantly  shifting 
opinions.  It  is  enough  that  he  himself  -has  relinquished  them. 
It  is  enough  that  France  and  Europe  reject  them. 

This  final  doctrine  then  fares  no  better  than  the  doctrines 
which  preceded  it.  Philosophy  is  still  in  search  of  its  Method 
and  its  basis ;  and  wearied  out  by  so  many  fruitless  efforts,  it 
finally  gives  up  the  quest,  and  allows  itself  to  be  absorbed  by 
Science.  The  dogmatic  assertion  of  this  position  is  to  be  found 
in  Auguste  Comte. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AUGUSTS  COMTE. 

As  I  have  devoted  a  whole  volume  to  the  exposition  of  Comte's 
philosophy,*  it  will  be  unnecessary  to  enter  into  a  detailed  exposi 
tion  here ;  and  the  small  space  at  disposal  may  be  occupied  with 
a  general  indication  of  his  historical  position  and  the  nature  of 
his  Method. 

In  the  course  of  this  History  one  fact  has  been  gradually  as 
suming  more  and  more  distinctness,  as  the  various  failures  to 
establish  any  solid  basis  for  Philosophy  have  been  brought  before 
us  :  namely,  that  mankind  has,  from  the  origin  of  speculative  in 
quiry,  been  pursuing  a  false  Method.  Gradually,  as  men  became 
aware  of  this  fact,  they  withdrew  themselves  more  and  more  from 
Philosophy,  and  devoted  their  speculative  energy  to  Science. 

*  Comics  Philosophy  of  the  Sciences,  1853  (Bohn's  Scientific  Library,  vol.  20). 


AUGUSTE   COMTE.  777 

Even  those  who,  reluctant  to  relinquish  the  high  aims  of  Philoso 
phy,  tried  by  changes  of  direction  to  discover  new  and  more  pros 
perous  issues,  and  hoped  in  reinvestigatina;  the  nature  of  human 
knowledge  to  disclose  some  yet  unsuspected  path  which  might 
lead  them  to  the  goal,  found  Psychology  itself  forced  to  range 
beside  the  positive  sciences,  and  to  adopt  the  one  Method  which 
hitherto  had  alone  been  fruitful  in  results.  And  while  from  all 
directions  a  convergence  towards  Science  was  silently  taking- 
place,  there  arose  a  powerful  thinker  who  proclaimed  the  in 
herent  necessity  of  this  convergence,  and  the  necessity  under 
which  Philosophy  now  was  of  definitively  relinquishing  its 
ancient  claims  in  favor  of  the  positive  Method,  which  could  lead 
men  to  a  general  doctrine  such  as  might  once  more  establish  har 
mony  in  their  endeavors,  and  give  to  Europe  an  invigorating  faith. 
In  the  Cours  de  Philosophic  Positive,  6  vols.,  1830-42,  Au- 
guste  Comte  did  for  the  nineteenth  century  what  Bacon  did  for 
the  seventeenth :  he  resumed  in  one  vast  work  the  various  re 
forming  tendencies  of  preceding  ages.  Whoever  casts  his 
glance  at  the  present  intellectual  state  of  Europe,  will  perceive  a 
great  want  of  unity,  caused  by  the  absence  of  any  one  doctrine, 
general  enough  to  embrace  every  variety  of  ideas,  and  positive 
enough  to  carry  with  it  irresistible  conviction.  Look  at  the  state 
of  Religion : — Catholicism  and  Protestantism  make  one  great 
division ;  but  within  the  sphere  of  each  we  see  numerous  subdi 
visions  ;  the  variety  of  sects  is  daily  increasing.  Each  Religion 
has  remarkable  men  amongst  its  members  ;  but  each  refuses  to 
admit  the  doctrines  of  the  others.  There  is,  in  fact,  no  one  gen 
eral  doctrine  capable  of  embracing  Catholics,  Protestants,  Mo 
hammedans,  and  their  subdivisions.  Look  also  at  the  state  of 
Philosophy.  There  is  no  one  system  universally  accepted  ;  there 
are  as  many  philosophies  as  there  are  speculative  nations,  almost 
as  many  as  there  are  professors.  The  dogmas  of  Germany  are 
held  in  England  and  Scotland  as  the  dreams  of  alchemists ;  the 
Psychology  of  Scotland  is  laughed  at  in  Germany,  and  neglected 
in  England  and  France.  Besides  this  general  dissidence,  we  see, 


TT8  AUGUSTS    COMTE 

in  France  and  Germany  at  least,  great  opposition  between  Re 
ligion  and  Philosophy  openly  pronounced.  This  opposition  is 
inevitable  :  it  lies  in  the  very  nature  of  Philosophy  ;  and  although, 
now  as  heretofore,  many  professors  eagerly  argue  that  the  two 
are  perfectly  compatible  and  accordant,  the  discordance  is,  and 
always  must  be,  apparent. 

With  respect  to  general  doctrines,  then,  we  find  the  state  of 
Europe  to  be  this  :  religions  opposed  to  religions  ;  philosophies 
opposed  to  philosophies  ;  and  Religion  and  Philosophy  at  war 
with  each  other.  Such  is  the  anarchy  in  the  higher  regions. 

In  the  positive  sciences  there  is  less  dissidence,  but  there  is  the 
same  absence  of  any  general  doctrine  ;  each  science  is  on  a  firm 
basis,  and  rapidly  improves ;  but  a  Philosophy  of  Science  is  no 
where  to  be  found  except  in  the  work  of  M.  Auguste  Comte? 
which  comes  forward  with  the  express  purpose  of  supplying  the 
deficiency.  The  speciality  of  most  scientific  men,  and  their  in 
capacity  of  either  producing  or  accepting  general  ideas,  has 
long  been  a  matter  of  complaint ;  and  this  has  been  one  great 
cause  of  the  continuance  of  Philosophy  :  for  men  of  speculative 
ability  saw  clearly  enough  that  however  exact  each  science 
might  be  in  itself,  it  could  only  form  a  part  of  Philosophy. 
Moreover,  the  evil  of  speciality  is  not  confined  to  neglecting  the 
whole  for  the  sake  of  the  parts  ;  it  affects  the  very  highest  con 
dition  of  Science,  namely,  its  capability  of  instructing  and  direct 
ing  society. 

In  the  early  ages  of  speculation,  general  views  were  eagerly 
sought  and  easily  obtained.  As  Science  became  rich  and  com 
plex  in  materials,  various  divisions  took  place ;  and  one  man 
cultivated  one  science,  another  man  another.  Even  then  general 
views  were  not  absent.  But  as  the  tide  rolled  on,  discovery  suc 
ceeding  discovery,  and  new  tracts  of  inquiry  leading  to  vast 
wildernesses  of  undiscovered  truth,  it  became  necessary  for  one 
man  to  devote  himself  only  to  a  small  fraction  of  a  science,  which 
he  pursued,  leaving  to  others  the  task  of  bringing  his  researches 
under  their  general  head.  Such  a  minute  division  of  labor  was 


AUGUSTS    COMTE.  779 

necessary  for  the  successful  prosecution  of  minute  and  laborious 
researches ;  but  it  ended  in  making  men  of  science  regard  only 
the  individual  parts  of  science;  the  construction  of  general  doc 
trines  was  left  to  philosophers.  A  fatal  error  ;  for  such  doctrines 
could  only  be  truly  constructed  out  of  the  materials  of  Science 
and  upon  the  Method  of  Science  ;  whereas  the  philosophers  were 
ignorant  of  Science — or  only  superficially  acquainted  with  it — 
and  despised  the  Method.  The  Natur-Pliilosophie  of  Schelling 
and  Hegel  is  a  sufficiently  striking  example  of  the  results  of  such 
a  procedure. 

We  come  then  to  this  conclusion  :  in  the  present  state  of 
things  the  speculative  domain  is  composed  of  two  very  different 
portions, — general  ideas  and  positive  sciences.  The  general  ideas 
are  powerless  because  they  are  not  positive  ;  the  positive  sciences 
are  powerless  because  they  are  not  general.  The  new  Philosophy 
which,  under  the  title  of  Positive,  M.  Comte  proposes  to  create 
— and  the  basis  of  which  he  has  himself  laid — is  destined  to  put 
an  end  to  this  anarchy,  by  presenting  a  doctrine  which  is  posi 
tive,  because  elaborated  from  the  sciences,  and  yet  possessing  all 
the  desired  generality  of  metaphysical  doctrines,  without  possess 
ing  their  vagueness,  instability,  and  inapplicability. 

Besides  this  general  aim  of  the  new  "  Great  Instauration,"  we 
have  to  notice  three  initial  conceptions  which  Comte  advances, 
two  of  which  relate  to  Method,  and  one  to  History. 

The  first  is  the  conception  of  Philosophy,  which,  in  its  widest 
sense,  is  identical  with  Science  ;  consequently  one  Method  must 
be  followed  in  all  investigations,  whether  the  investigations  relate 
to  Physics,  to  Psychology,  to  Ethics,  or  to  Politics.  Every  spe 
cial  science,  no  matter  what  its  subject-matter,  is  but  a  branch  of 
the  one  Positive  Philosophy. 

The  second  conception  is  that  of  Classification,  whereby  all 
the  special  sciences  will  assume  their  proper  place  in  the  hie 
rarchy  of  Science,  the  simpler  being  studied  first,  and  thus  becom 
ing  instruments  for  the  better  prosecution  of  those  which  suc 
ceed.  Thus  Mathematics  becomes  the  instrument  of  Astronomy 


780  ATJGCSTE   COMTE. 

and  Physics ;  Chemistry  becomes  the  instrument  of  Biology ; 
and  Biology  becomes  the  instrument  of  Sociology. 

The  third  conception  is  that  of  the  fundamental  law  of  evolu 
tion.  This  conception  sets  forth  that  Humanity  has  three  stages, 
the  Theological,  the  Metaphysical,  and  the  Positive.  Whether 
we  examine  the  history  of  nations,  of  individuals,  or  of  special 
sciences,  we  find  that  speculation  always  commences  with  super 
natural  explanations,  advances  to  metaphysical  explanations,  and 
finally  reposes  in  positive  explanations.  The  first  is  the  neces 
sary  point  of  departure  taken  by  human  intelligence  ;  the  second 
is  merely  a  stage  of  transition  from  the  supernatural  to  the  posi 
tive  ;  and  the  third  is  the  fixed  and  definite  condition  in  which 
knowledge  is  alone  capable  of  progressive  development. 

In  the  Theological  stage,  the  mind  regards  all  effects  as  the 
productions  of  supernatural  agents,  whose  intervention  is  the 
cause  of  all  the  apparent  anomalies  and  irregularities.  Nature  is 
animated  by  supernatural  beings.  Every  unusual  phenomenon 
is  a  sign  of  the  pleasure  or  displeasure  of  some  being  adored  and 
propitiated  as  a  God.  The  lowest  condition  of  this  stage  is  that 
of  the  savages,  viz.  Fetishism.  The  highest  condition  is  when 
one  being  is  substituted  for  many,  as  the  cause  of  all  phenomena. 

In  the  Metaphysical  stage,  which  is  only  a  modification  of  the 
former,  but  which  is  important  as  a  transitional  stage,  the  super 
natural  agents  give  place  to  abstract  forces  (personified  abstrac 
tions)  supposed  to  inhere  in  the  various  substances,  and  capable 
themselves  of  engendering  phenomena.  The  highest  condition 
of  this  stage  is  when  all  these  forces  are  brought  under  one  gen 
eral  force  named  Nature. 

In  the  Positive  stage,  the  mind,  convinced  of  the  futility  of  all 
inquiry  into  causes  and  essences,  applies  itself  to  the  observation 
and  classification  of  laius  which  regulate  effects  :  that  is  to  say, 
the  invariable  relations  of  succession  and  similitude  which  all 
things  bear  to  each  other.  The  highest  condition  of  this  stage 
would  be,  to  be  able  to  represent  all  phenomena  as  the  various 
particulars  of  one  general  view. 


AUGUSTE    COMTE.  781 

Thus,  in  Astronomy  \ve  may  trace  the  gradual  evolution  from 
Apollo  and  his  chariot,  through  the  Pythagorean  ideas  of  Num 
bers,  Harmonies,  and  so  many  other  metaphysical  abstractions, 
to  the  firm  basis  on  which  it  is  now  settled :  the  law  of  gravita 
tion.  So  that  it  is  by  geometry  and  dynamics  we  hope  to  wrest 
their  secret  from  the  spheres ;  not  by  the  propitiation  of  a  Sun- 
god.  Thus  also  in  Physics,  where  thunder  was  the  intervention 
of  Jove,  and  where  Metaphysics  had  introduced  Nature's  "  hor 
ror  of  a  void,"  Science  seeks  the  laws  of  gravitation,  electricity, 
light,  etc. 

In  the  work  already  mentioned  I  have  illustrated  this  law  in 
many  ways.  The  reader  is  advised  however  to  seek  in  Comte's 
own  volumes  for  a  complete  verification  of  the  law,  and  its  im 
portance  in  all  historical  inquiry.*  A  few  sentences  will  suffice 
to  indicate  the  nature  of  the  three  stages : — All  are  agreed,  in 
these  days,  that  real  knowledge  must  be  founded  on  the  observa 
tion  of  facts.  But  no  science  could  have  its  origin  in  simple  ob 
servation  ;  for  if,  on  the  one  hand,  all  positive  theories  must  be 
founded  on  observation,  so,  on  the  other,  it  is  equally  necessary 
to  have  some  sort  of  theory  before  we  address  ourselves  to  the 
task  of  steady  observation.  If,  in  contemplating  phenomena,  we 
do  not  connect  them  with  some  principle,  it  would  not  only  be 
impossible  for  us  to  combine  our  isolated  observations,  and  con 
sequently  to  draw  any  benefit  from  them  ;  but  we  should  also 
be  unable  even  to  retain  them,  and  most  frequently  the  impor 
tant  facts  would  remain  unperceived.  We  are  consequently 
forced  to  theorize.  A  theory  is  necessary  to  observation,  and  a 
correct  theory  to  correct  observation. 

This  double  necessity  imposed  upon  the  mind — of  observation 
for  the  formation  of  a  theory,  and  of  a  theory  for  the  practice  of 
observation — would  have  caused  it  to  move  in  a  circle,  if  nature 
had  not  fortunately  provided  an  outlet  in  the  spontaneous  activ- 

*  This  advice  can  tlie  more  easily  be  followed  now  that  a  translated  con 
densation  of  the  Positive  Philosophy  by  Harriet  Martirjcau,  has  placed  the 
work  within  reach  of  English  readers. 


782  AUGUSTE   COMTE. 

ity  of  the  mind.  This  activity  causes  it  to  begin  by  assuming  a 
cause,  which  it  seeks  out  of  nature,  i.  e.  a  supernatural  cause. 
As  man  is  conscious  that  he  acts  according  as  he  wills,  so  he  nat 
urally  concludes  that  every  thing  acts  in  accordance  with  some 
superior  will.  Hence  Fetishism,  which  is  nothing  but  the  endow 
ment  of  inanimate  things  with  life  and  volition.  This  is  the 
logical  necessity  for  the  supernatural  stage  :  the  mind  com 
mences  with  the  unknowable  ;  it  has  first  to  learn  its  impotence, 
to  learn  the  limits  of  its  range,  before  it  can  content  itself  with 
the  know  able. 

The  metaphysical  stage  is  equally  important  as  the  transitive 
stage.  The  supernatural  and  positive  stages  are  so  widely  op 
posed  that  they  require  intermediate  notions  to  bridge  over  the 
chasm.  In  substituting  an  entity  inseparable  from  phenomena, 
for  a  supernatural  agent,  through  whose  will  these  phenomena 
were  produced,  the  mind  became  habituated  to  consider  only  the 
phenomena  themselves.  This  was  a  most  important  condition. 
The  result  was,  that  the  ideas  of  these  metaphysical  entities 
gradually  faded,  and  were  lost  in  the  mere  abstract  names  of  the 
phenomena. 

The  positive  stage  was  now  possible.  The  mind  having  ceased 
to  interpose  cither  supernatural  agents  or  metaphysical  entities 
between  the  phenomena  and  their  production,  attended  solely 
to  the  phenomena  themselves.  These  it  reduced  to  laws  ;  in 
other  words,  it  arranged  them  according  to  their  invariable  re 
lations  of  similitude  and  succession.  The  search  after  essences 
and  causes  was  renounced.  The  pretension  to  absolute  knowl 
edge  was  set  aside.  The  discovery  of  laws  became  the  great  ob 
ject  of  mankind. 

Kemember  that  although  every  branch  of  knowledge  must 
pass  through  these  three  stages,  in  obedience  to  the  law  of  evo 
lution,  nevertheless  the  progress  is  not  strictly  chronological. 
Some  sciences  are  more  rapid  in  their  evolution  than  others ; 
some  individuals  pass  through  these  evolutions  more  quickly  than 
others  ;  so  also  of  nations.  The  present  intellectual  anarchy  re- 


AUGUSTE   COMTE.  783 

suits  from  that  difference ;  some  sciences  being  in  the  positive, 
some  in  the  supernatural,  and  some  in  the  metaphysical  stage  : 
and  this  is  further  to  be  subdivided  into  individual  differences  ; 
for  in  a  science  which,  on  the  whole,  may  fairly  be  admitted  as 
being  positive,  there  will  be  found  some  cultivators  still  in  the 
metaphysical  stage.  Astronomy  is  now  in  so  positive  a  condi 
tion,  that  we  need  nothing  but  the  laws  of  dynamics  and  gravi 
tation  to  explain  all  celestial  phenomena ;  and  this  explanation 
we  know  to  be  correct,  as  far  as  any  thing  can  be  known,  because 
we  can  predict  the  return  of  a  comet  with  the  nicest  accuracy, 
or  can  enable  the  mariner  to  discover  his  latitude  and  find  his 
way  amidst  the  "  waste  of  waters."  This  is  a  positive  science. 
But  so  far  is  meteorology  from  such  a  condition,  that  prayers  for 
dry  or  rainy  weather  are  still  offered  up  in  churches;  whereas  if 
once  the  laws  of  these  phenomena  were  traced,  there  would  no 
more  be  prayers  for  rain  than  for  the  sun  to  rise  at  midnight. 
Remark  also,  that  while  in  the  present  day  no  natural  philoso 
pher  is  unwise  enough  to  busy  himself  with  the  attempt  to  dis 
cover  the  cause  of  attraction,  thousands  are  busy  in  the  attempt 
to  discover  the  cause  of  life  and  the  essence  of  mind.  This  differ 
ence  characterizes  positive  and  metaphysical  sciences.  The  one 
is  content  with  a  general  fact,  that  "  attraction  is  directly  as  the 
mass  and  inversely  as  the  square  of  the  distance ;"  this  being 
sufficient  for  all  scientific  purposes,  because  enabling  us  to  pre 
dict  with  unerring  certainty  the  results  of  that  operation.  The 
metaphysician  or  metaphysical  physiologist,  on  the  contrary,  is 
more  occupied  with  guessing  at  the  causes  of  life,  than  in  observ 
ing  and  classifying  vital  phenomena  with  a  view  to  detect  their 
laws  of  operation.  First  he  guesses  it  to  be  what  he  calls  a 
"  vital  principle" — a  mysterious  ejafcity  residing  in  the  frame,  and 
capable  of  engendering  phenomena.  He  then  proceeds  to  guess 
at  the  nature  or  essence  of  this  principle,  and  pronounces  it 
"  electricity,"  or  "  nervous  fluid,"  or  "  chemical  affinity."  Thus 
he  heaps  hypothesis  upon  hypothesis,  and  clouds  the  subject  from 
his  view. 


784  AUGUSTS   COMTE. 

The  more  closely  we  examine  the  present  condition  of  the  sci 
ences,  the  more  we  shall  be  struck  with  the  anarchy  above  indi 
cated.  We  shall  find  one  science  (Physics)  in  a  perfectly  posi 
tive  stage,  another  (Biology)  in  the  metaphysical  stage,  a  third 
(Sociology)  in  the  supernatural  stage.  Nor  is  this  all.  The 
same  varieties  will  be  found  to  co-exist  in  the  same  individual 
mind.  The  same  man  who  in  Physics  may  be  said  to  have  ar 
rived  at  the  positive  stage,  and  recognizes  no  other  object  of  in 
quiry  than  the  laws  of  phenomena,  will  be  found  still  a  slave  to 
the  metaphysical  stage  in  Biology,  and  endeavoring  to  detect  the 
cause  of  life  ;  and  so  little  emancipated  from  the  supernatural 
stage  in  Sociology,  that  if  you  talk  to  him  of  the  2^°ssibility  of  a 
science  of  history,  or  a  social  science,  he  will  laugh  at  you  as 
a  "  theorizer."  The  present  condition  of  Science,  therefore,  ex 
hibits  three  Methods  instead  of  one :  hence  the  anarchy.  To 
remedy  the  evil  all  differences  must  cease  :  one  Method  must 
preside.  Auguste  Comte  was  the  first  to  point  out  the  fact,  and 
to  suggest  the  cure  ;  and  it  will  render  his  name  immortal.  So 
long  as  the  supernatural  explanation  of  phenomena  was  univer 
sally  accepted,  so  long  was  there  unity  of  thought,  because  one 
general  principle  was  applied  to  all  facts.  The  same  may  be 
said  of  the  metaphysical  stage,  though  in  a  less  degree,  because 
it  was  never  universally  accepted  ;  it  was  in  advance  of  the 
supernatural,  but  before  it  could  attain  universal  recognition,  the 
positive  stage  had  already  begun.  When  the  positive  Method  is 
universally  accepted— and  the  day  we  hope  is  not  far  distant,  at 
least  among  the  elite  of  humanity — then  shall  we  again  have 
unity  of  thought,  then  shall  we  again  have  one  general  doctrine, 
powerful  because  general.  That  the  positive  Method  is  the  only 
Method  adapted  to  human  capacity,  the  only  one  on  which  truth 
can  be  found,  is  easily  proved  :  on  it  alone  can  prevision  of  phe 
nomena  depend.  Prevision  is  the  characteristic  and  the  test  of 
knowledge.  If  wre  can  predict  certain  results  and  if  they  occur 
as  we  predicted,  then  are  we  assured  that  our  knowledge  is  cor 
rect.  If  the  wind  blows  according  to  the  will  of  Boreas,  we  may, 


AUGUSTE    COMTE.  785 

indeed, propitiate  his  favor,  but  we  cannot  calculate  upon  it.  We 
can  have  no  certain  knowledge  whether  the  wind  will  blow  or 
not.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  subject  to  laws,  like  every  thing- 
else,  once  discover  these  laws,  and  men  will  predict  concerning 
it  as  they  predict  concerning  other  matters.  "Even  the  wind 
and  rain,"  to  use  the  language  of  one  of  our  clearest  writers, 
"  which  in  common  speech  are  the  types  of  uncertainty  and 
change,  obey  laws  as  fixed  as  those  of  the  sun  and  moon  ;  and 
already,  as  regards  many  parts  of  the  earth,  man  can  foretell 
them  without  fear  of  being  deceived.  He  plans  his  voyages  to 
suit  the  coming  monsoons,  and  prepares  against  the  floods  of  the 
rainy  season."*  If  one  other  argument  be  needed,  we  would 
simply  refer  to  the  gradual  and  progressive  improvement  which 
has  always  taken  place  in  every  department  of  inquiry  conduct 
ed  upon  the  positive  Method — and  with  a  success  in  exact  pro 
portion  to  its  rigorous  employment,  of  that  Method — contrasted 
with  the  circular  movement  of  Philosophy,  which  is  just  as  far 
from  a  solution  of  any  one  of  its  problems  as  it  was  five  thousand 
years  ago  ;  the  only  truths  that  it  can  be  said  to  have  acquired 
are  a  few  psychological  truths,  and  these  it  owes  to  the  positive 
Method.  So  little  has  the  Philosophy  of  Science  been  studied, 
that  Comte's  admirable  classification  of  the  fundamental  sciences 
has  not  only  been  regarded  as  a  merely  ingenious  speculation, 
but  many  writers  have  said  that  it  was  not  different  from  other 
classifications  which  had  been  proposed,  among  which  Hegel's 
has  been  mentioned.  But  the  resemblance  is  only  superficial. 
A  few  sentences  must  suffice  here  to  indicate  the  principle  on 
which  it  is  based  : — The  problem  to  be  solved  is  the  dependence 
of  the  sciences  upon  each  other.  This  dependence  can  only  re 
sult  from  that  of  the  corresponding  phenomena.  In  considering 
these,  it  is  easy  to  class  them  in  a  small  number  of  natural  cate 
gories,  so  disposed  that  the  rational  study  of  each  successive 
category  should  be  founded  on  the  knowledge  of  the  principal 

*  Dr.  Arnott's  Elements  of  Physics,  fifth  edition,  vol.  i.  p.  13. 


786  AUGUSTE    COMTE. 

laws  of  the  preceding  category.  The  order  of  their  dependence 
is  determined  by  the  degree  of  simplicity  or  generality  of  the 
phenomena.  It  is  evident  that  the  most  simple  phenomena — 
those  which  are  least  mixed  up  with  others — are  the  most  gen 
eral  ;  for  that  which  is  observed  in  the  greatest  number  of  circum 
stances  is  the  most  independent  of  the  various  particulars  of 
those  circumstances.  The  principle  therefore  to  be  adopted  is 
this  :  we  must  commence  with  the  study  of  the  most  simple  or 
general  phenomena,  and  proceed  successively  to  the  most  com 
plex  and  particular. 

A  distinction  is  to  be  made  between  the  two  classes  of  pheno 
mena  which  are  manifested  by  inorganizcd  bodies  and  by  organ 
ized  bodies.  The  phenomena  of  the  latter  are  obviously  more 
complex  than  those  of  the  former  :  they  greatly  depend  upon  in- 
organized  bodies,  while  these  in  no  way  depend  upon  organized 
bodies.  Organized  bodies  manifest  all  the  phenomena  of  the  in- 
organized,  whether  chemical  or  mechanical ;  but  they  also  mani 
fest  the  phenomena  named  vital,  which  are  never  manifested  by 
inorganized  bodies. 

In  the  study  of  inorganic  Physics  we  commence  by  separating 
the  general  phenomena  of  the  universe  from  the  less  general  ter 
restrial  phenomena.  Thus  we  have,  first,  celestial  Physics,  or 
Astronomy,  whether  geometrical  or  mechanical ;  secondly,  ter 
restrial  Physics.  The  phenomena  of  Astronomy  being  the  most 
general,  the  most  simple,  and  the  most  abstract  of  all,  we  must 
begin  our  study  with  them.  Their  laws  influence  all  other  ter 
restrial  phenomena,  of  which  they  are  essentially  independent. 
In  all  terrcsti'ial  Physics  universal  gravitation  is  a  condition  ; 
and  so  the  simple  movement  of  the  body,  if  we  would  consider 
all  the  determining  conditions,  is  a  subject  of  greater  complexity 
than  any  astronomical  question. 

Terrestrial  Physics  is  also  divided  into  two  classes  :  Physics 
and  Chemistry-  Chemistry,  rightly  conceived,  presupposes  a 
knowledge  of  Physics  :  for  all  chemical  phenomena  are  more 
complex  than  those  of  Physics,  and  depend  on  them  in  great  part : 


AUGUSTE   COMTE.  787 

whereas  they  have  no  influence  on  physical  phenomena.  All 
chemical  action  is  subject  to  the  influence  of  weight,  heat,  etc., 
and  must  therefore  be  treated  after  them. 

Organic  Physics  requires  a  similar  division  into  Biology  and 
Sociology.  The  phenomena  relating  to  mankind  are  obviously 
more  complex  than  those  relating  to  the  individual  man,  and 
depend  upon  them.  In  all  social  questions  we  see  in  operation 
the  physiological  laws  of  man ;  and  we  see  also  something  pe 
culiar,  not  physiological,  which  modifies  the  effects  of  these  laws, 
and  which  results  from  the  action  of  individuals  on  each  other, 
curiously  complicated  by  the  action  of  each  generation  on  its  suc 
cessor.  It  would  be  manifestly  as  impossible  to  treat  the  study 
of  the  collective  species  as  a  pure  deduction  from  the  study  of 
the  individual,  as  it  would  be  to  treat  Physiology  as  a  pure  de 
duction  from  Chemistry. 

The  Positive  Philosophy  therefore  resolves  itself  into  five  fun 
damental  sciences,  of  which  the  succession  is  determined  by  a 
necessary  and  invariable  subordination  founded  on  a  comparison 
of  corresponding  phenomena.  The  first  (Astronomy)  considers 
the  most  general,  simple,  and  abstract  phenomena — those  far 
thest  removed  from  humanity :  they  influence  all  others,  but  are 
not  influenced  by  them.  The  last  (Sociology)  considers  the 
most  particular,  complex,  and  concrete  phenomena — those  most 
directly  interesting  to  man  :  they  depend  more  or  less  upon  all 
the  preceding  classes,  without  exercising  on  the  latter  the  slight 
est  influence.  Between  these  two  extremes  the  degrees  of  spe 
ciality  and  of  complication  of  phenomena  gradually  augment 
according  to  their  successive  independence. 

The  foundation  of  a  comprehensive  Method  is  the  great 
achievement  of  Comte,  as  it  was  of  Bacon,  and  the  influence  he 
has  exercised,  and  must  continue  to  exercise,  will  be  almost  ex 
clusively  in  that  direction.  Over  his  subsequent  efforts  to  found 
a  social  doctrine,  and  to  become  the  founder  of  a  new  religion, 
let  us  draw  the  veil.  They  are  unfortunate  attempts  which  re 
mind  us  of  Bacon's  scientific  investigations ;  and,  in  the  minds  of 


788  CONCLUSION. 

many,  these  unfortunate  attempts  will  create  a  prejudice  against 
what  is  truly  grand  in  his  philosophic  career.  In  the  Cours  de 
Philosophic  Positive  we  have  the  grandest,  because  on  the  whole 
the  truest,  system  which  Philosophy  has  yet  produced  ;  nor 
should  any  differences,  which  must  inevitably  arise  on  points  of 
detail,  make  us  forget  the  greatness  of  the  achievement  and  the 
debt  we  owe  to  the  lonely  thinker  who  wrought  out  this  system. 


CONCLUSION. 

MODERN  Philosophy  opens  with  a  Method  ;  and  ends  with  a 
Method ;  and  in  each  case  this  method  leads  to  positive  Science, 
and  sets  Metaphysics  aside.  Within  these  limits  we  have  wit 
nessed  various  efforts  to  solve  the  problems  of  Philosophy  ;  and 
all  those  efforts  have  ended  in  skepticism. 

There  are  two  characteristics  of  Modern  Philosophy  which 
may  here  be  briefly  touched  on.  The  first  is  the  progressive 
development  of  Science,  which  in  ancient  speculations  occupied 
the  subordinate  rank,  and  which  now  occupies  the  highest.  The 
second  is  the  reproduction  in  Philosophy  of  all  the  questions 
which  agitated  the  Greeks,  which  also  pass  through  a  similar 
course  of  development :  not  only  are  the  questions  similar,  but 
their  evolutions  are  so. 

After  the  Eleatics  had  vexed  the  problems  of  Existence  to  no 
purpose,  there  came  Democritus,  Anaxagoras,  Plato,  and  Aris 
totle,  who  endeavored  to  settle  the  problems  of  the  nature  and 
origin  of  human  knowledge.  So,  in  modern  times,  after  Des 
cartes  and  Spinoza,  came  Hobbes,  Locke,  Leibnitz,  Reid,  and 
Kant.  The  ancient  researches  into  the  origin  of  knowledge 

O  O 

ended  in  the  Skeptics,  the  Stoics,  and  the  New  Academy  :  that 
is  to  say,  in  Skepticism,  Common  Sense,  and  Skepticism  again. 
The  modern  researches  ended  in  Berkeley,  Hume,  Reid,  and 
Kant :  that  is,  in  Idealism,  Skepticism,  Common  Sense,  and 


CONCLUSION.  789 

Skepticism  again.  These  inquiries  terminating  thus  fruitlessly, 
a  new  and  desperate  spring  was  made  in  Alexandria  :  reason 
was  given  up  for  ecstasy ;  Philosophy  merged  itself  in  Religion. 
In  Germany  a  similar  spectacle  presents  itself :  Schelling  identi 
fied  Philosophy  with  Religion.  Thus  has  Philosophy  completed 
its  circle,  and  we  are  left  in  this  nineteenth  century  precisely  at 
the  same  point  at  which  we  were  in  the  fifth. 

Observe,  however — and  the  fact  is  full  of  significance — how, 
in  the  course  of  speculation,  those  questions  which  were  suscepti 
ble  of  positive  treatment,  gradually  acquired  strength  and  devel 
opment.  If  we  are  as  far  removed  from  a  solution  of  any  onto- 
logical  problem  as  we  were  in  the  days  of  Proclus,  we  are  not 
nearly  so  ignorant  of  the  laws  of  mental  operation.  Psychology 
is  not  a  mature  science  yet ;  but  it  boasts  of  some  indisputable 
truths.  Although  much  remains  to  do,  much  also  has  been 
done  ;  and  whatever  be  the  ultimate  results  of  the  new  Method, 
it  is  satisfactory  to  feel  that  we  have  at  least  escaped  from  the 
vicious  circle  of  verbal  quibbling  and  logomachy,  and  are  advan 
cing  on  a  straight  road,  every  step  bringing  us  nearer  to  positive 
knowledge,  every  addition  being  that  of  inalienable  truth. 

Modern  philosophy  staked  its  pretensions  on  the  one  ques 
tion  :  Have  we  any  ideas  independent  of  experience  ?  This  was 
asking,  in  other  words,  Have  we  any  organon  of  Philosophy  ? 

The  answer  always  ends  in  a  negative.  If  any  one,  therefore, 
remain  unshaken  by  the  accumulated  proofs  this  History  affords 
of  the  impossibility  of  Philosophy,  let  him  distinctly  bear  in 
mind  that  the  first  problem  he  must  solve  is,  Have  we  ideas  in 
dependent  of  experience  ?  Let  him  solve  that  ere  he  begins  to 
speculate. 


THE    END. 


INDEX. 


Abelard,  his  character,  birth,  de 
scent,  studies,  346  ;  love  of  dia 
lectics,  taste  for  notoriety,  personal 
appearance,  triumph  over  his  mas 
ter,  origin  of  his  misfortunes,  348  ; 
establishes  a  school  of  philosophy, 
his  debate  with  Champeaux,  349  : 
his  brilliant  career,  intrigue  with 
Heloise,  350-355  ;  becomes  a  monk, 
founds  the  convent  of  the  Para 
clete,  his  philosophy  and  contribu 
tions  to  the  development  of  specu 
lation,  355  ;  peculiarity  of  his  doc 
trine,  357-359  ;  object  of  his  work 
Introductio  ad  Tkeologiam,  his  trea 
tise  Sic  et  Won,  359. 

Academy,  the  New,  difference  be 
tween  the  skepticism  of  the  New 
Academicians  and  that  of  the  Pyr- 
rhonists,  293  ;  its  derivation  from 
Plato  explained,  296. 

Academicians,  the  New,  problem  re 
specting  perception  presented  by 
them,  298-304. 

Alcibiades,  his  description  of  Socra 
tes,  123. 

Algazzali :  birth,  parentage,  studies, 
profession,  363 ;  resemblance  be 
tween  him  and  Descartes,  363  ;  his 
skepticism,  364 ;  his  examination 
of  doctrines  held  by  the  faithful, 
366  ;  his  career  and  endeavors  to 
attain  the  ecstatic  state,  367  ;  his 
attempts  to  prove  the  existence  of 
prophetism,  369. 

Alexandrian  schools,  the,  307;  schools 
of  philosophy  formed  at  Alexandria, 
308 ;  illustrious  men  assembled 
there,  309  ;  direction  given  to  the 
mind  by  the  Alexandrian  school, 
313  ;  in  what  its  originality  con 
sists,  its  dialectics,  315  ;  its  theories 
of  inspiration,  319  ;  the  Alexandrian 
Trinity,  320-324 ;  similarity  of  the 
Alexandrian  Trinity  to  that  of  Spi 
noza,  326  ;  aim  of  the  Alexandrian 
school,  333  ;  its  termination  in  Pro- 
clus,  336. 


Ameinias,  his  statement  respecting 
Parmenides,  49. 

Anaximander,  his  birth,  inventions 
ascribed  to  him,  10  ;  astronomical 
and  mathematical  knowledge,  lead 
er  of  a  colony  to  Apollonia,  resi 
dence  at  the  court  of  Poly  crates, 
doctrines  and  speculations,  "ll ;  his 
distinction  between  finite  things 
and  the  Infinite  All,  13  ;  his  specu 
lations  wholly  deductive,  14;  his 
physical  speculations,  15  ;  harmony 
between  him  and  Pythagoras,  33. 

Anaximenes,  doctrines  of,  a  develop 
ment  of  those  of  Thales,  his  birth 
place,  his  theory  respecting  air,  6  ; 
his  doctrine  an  advance  on  Thaies,  7. 

Anaxagoras  :  birth,  patrimony,  char 
acter,  passion  for  philosophy,  and 
residence  at  Athens,  71 ;  his  pov 
erty,  career  as  a  teacher,  pupils, 
accusation,  banishment,  death,  72  ; 
his  philosophy,  72 :  leading  doc 
trines,  74  ;  cosmology,  75  ;  his  re 
jection  of  Fate  and  Chance,  76  ; 
Plato's  objection  to  him,  78  ;  his 
notion  respecting  Intelligence,  80  ; 
mistakes  made  by  him,  inapplica 
bility  of  the  title  Eclectic  to  him,  82 ; 
admission  of  both  Sense  and  Kea- 
son  into  his  system,  83. 

Antisthenes,  his  life,  teachers,  sys 
tem,  177  ;  his  manners  and  gloomy 
temper,  school  founded  by  him, 178. 

Arabians,  two  great  epochs  in  the  in 
tellectual  development  of  the,  369  ; 
Arabian  philosophy,  361  ;  Arabian 
philosophers,  their  familiarity  with 
Greek  writers,  362 ;  obligations  of 
Europe  to,  370. 

Arcesilaus:  birth,  studies,  promotion 
to  the  academic  chair,  character, 
death,  294  ;  his  doctrine  of  a  acata 
lepsy,  297. 

Archytas  and  Timasus,  works  attrib 
uted  to  them,  spurious,  24. 

Aristippus,  founder  of  the  Cyrenaio 
school ;  his  acquaintance  with  Soc- 


792 


INDEX. 


rates,  173  ;  residence  at  Corinth ; 
disposition  and  character,  return 
to  Cyrene,  174 ;  his  philosophy,  a 

Erecur.sor  of  Epicureanism,  its  re- 
ition  to  Socrates,  175 ;  his  doc 
trine  of  pleasure,  177. 

Aristotle  :  birth,  origin,  241 ;  educa 
tion,  visit  to  Athens,  242 ;  writes 
his  History  of  Animals,  243;  founds 
the  school  of  the  Peripatetics,  in 
fluence  of  his  writings,  244  ;  nature 
of  his  method,  246  ;  difference  be 
tween  him  and  Plato,  247  ;  his  doc 
trine  of  induction,  249  ;  commence 
ment  of  positive  science  in  Aris 
totle's  method,  250  ;  difference  be 
tween  the  Aristotelian  method  and 
the  method  of  positive  science,  250 ; 
difference  between  Aristotle's  and 
Plato's  use  of  the  term  dialectics, 
252 ;  his  categories,  255  ;  object  of 
his  logic,  256  ;  his  propositions, 
257  ;  his  definition  of  the  syllo 
gism,  259  ;  his  metaphysics,  261 ; 
errors  in  his  theory,  262 ;  his  va 
rious  doctrines,  263 ;  compared 
with  Plato,  his  versatile  intellect, 
264 ;  results  of  his  labors,  266 ; 
his  long  authority  explained,  872 ; 
his  influence  on  the  sixteenth  cen 
tury,  378. 

Authority  and  Liberty,  principles 
of,  371. 

Bacon,  Francis :  birth,  ancestry,  edu 
cation,  398 ;  visits  France,  studies 
common  law,  distinguished  as  an 
orator,  399  ;  sworn  a  member  of  the 
Privy  Council,  appointed  keeper  of 
the  Great  Seal ;  created  Baron  Ver- 
iilam,  accused  of  corruption,  400; 
impeached,  retires  from  public  life, 
401 ;  his  death,  his  method,  402 ; 
his  four  classes  of  idols,  402 ;  his 
description  of  induction,  404 ;  his 
doctrine  illustrated,  405;  his  Pre 
rogative  Instances,  406 ;  distinguish 
ing  characteristic  of  his  philosophy, 
408  ;  his  chief  merit,  409  ;  division 
of  his  method  into  two  parts,  his 
Aphorisms,  410  ;  positive  tendency 
of  his  speculations,  411  ;  his  sepa 
ration  of  science  from  theology  il 
lustrated,  412 ;  his  declaration  re 
specting  physics,  413  ;  his  testimo 
nies  to  the  .genius  and  errors  of  the 
ancients,  415;  the  groundwork  of 
his  Organum,  416 ;  his  constant 
aim,  417  ;  inquiry  into  the  ori 
ginality  and  usefulness  of  his 
method,  objections  brought  against 


it  by  Le  Maistre  and  Macaulay  re 
futed,  420-434. 

Baillarger,  M.,  his  method  for  meas 
uring  the  surfaces  of  the  brain,  766. 

Belief  and  perception,  difference  be 
tween,  585. 

Berkeley,  George  :  birth,  education, 
publication  of  his  writings,  visit  to 
London,  reception  there,  character, 
548 ;  career,  travels,  preferment, 
visit  to  America,  return  to  Eng 
land,  made  Bishop  of  Cloyne,  re 
moval  to  Oxford,  death,  his  ideal 
ism,  549 ;  misunderstanding  of 
him  by  his  critics,  his  rejection  of 
the  noumenon,  explained,  550 ;  ac 
cusation  brought  against  him  re 
futed,  doctrine  of  the  reality  of 
things  maintained  by  him,  552 ; 
his  definition  of  substance,  553;  his 
starting-point,  556 ;  his  theory  of 
the  origin  of  knowledge,  557  ;  ker 
nel  pfliis  system,  558;  his  identi 
fication  of  the  object  with  sensa 
tion,  559  ;  fundamental  principle 
of  his  theory,  560;  his  refutation 
of  realism,  561 ;  his  triumph  over 
dualism,  563  ;  his  theory  irrefuta 
ble,  564 ;  his  main  position  incon 
trovertible,  566  ;  causes  of  his  fail 
ure,  results  of  his  labors,  569. 

Brain,  function  of  the,  597  ;  discrep 
ancies  in  the  size  of  the,  767. 

Bruno,  Giordano,  his  martyrdom, 
373;  rarity  of  his  works,  374;  his 
birth  and  disposition,  character, 
adopts  the  Dominican  frock,  375  ; 
his  doubts  on  transubstantiation 
and  respecting  Aristotle,  his  ad 
venturous  course,  376  ;  his  perse 
cutions,  377  ;  his  teachers,  379  ; 
his  position  among  teachers,  his 
travels  and  adventures,  379-384 ; 
flight  to  Venice,  thrown  into  pris 
on,  385;  sent  to  Rome,  excommuni 
cated  arid  perishes  at  the  stake, 
886  ;  historical  value  of  his  system, 
character  of  his  writings,  388  ;  his 
anticipation  of  Spinoza  and  Des 
cartes,  impulse  given  by  him  to  the 
study  of  Nature,  390  ;  his  creed, 
391 ;  grandeur  of  his  system,  392  ; 
his  comedy,  393  ;  his  various  writ 
ings,  394-397. 

Cabanis,  Pierre  Jean  Georges,  740 ; 
physiological  method  to  be  sought 
in  him,  742  ;  birth,  profession,  res 
idence  at  Auteuil,  death,  his  work 
entitled  Rapports  en,  Pkysique,  his 
position  in  the  history  of  philoso- 


INDEX. 


793 


phy,  742 ;  his  recognition  of  the 
unity  of  life  and  mind,  743  ;  his 
predecessors,  his  physiological  psy 
chology,  744;  results  of  his  survey 
of  the  human  organism,  746  ;  object 
of  his  treatise,  746  ;  popularity  and 
influence  of  his  work,  747. 

Carneades,  birth,  teachers,  promo 
tion  to  the  academic  chair,  sent  as 
ambassador  to  Rome,  295 ;  influ 
ence,  return  to  Athens,  death,  296. 

Cartesian  doctrine,  454. 

Causation,  defined,  586  ;  weakness  of 
the  theory  of,  exposed,  662 ;  in 
stinctive  belief  in  causation  proved 
to  be  false,  666  ;  belief  in  causa 
tion,  on  what  founded,  668;  uni 
versal  causation,  source  of  the  be 
lief  in,  664;  reflection  required  for 
the  belief  in,  not  an  instinct,  666. 

Century,  the  sixteenth,  its  place  in 
history,  877. 

Certainty,  how  attainable,  xxxiv. 

Christology,  Hegelian,  Spinoza's  an 
ticipation  of,  466. 

Collard,  Eoyer,  772. 

Common  sense  philosophy,  failure  of 
and  benefits  conferred  by,  629. 

Comte,  Auguste  :  historical  position, 
nature  of  his  method,  776 ;  his 
Cours  de  Philosopkie  Positive,  777 ; 
his  inauguration  of  a  philosophy  of 
science,  778  ;  his  three  initial  con 
ceptions,  779  ;  his  fundamental  law 
of  evolution,  780;  nature  of,  781 ; 
its  three  stages  not  strictly  chrono 
logical,  782 ;  his  classification  of  the 
fundamental  sciences,  785 ;  his  in 
fluence,  787. 

Condillac,  Etienne  de,  birth,  career, 
publication  of  his  essay,  appointed 
tutor  to  the  Prince  of  Parma,  made 
a  member  of  the  French  Academy, 
publication  of  his  Logic,  death,  589  ; 
the  representative  of  Locke  in 
France,  object  of  his  Traite  des  Sen 
sations,  peculiarity  of  his  system, 
590  ;  his  misconception  of  Locke, 
his  doctrine  refuted,  591 ;  his  error 
respecting  the  mental  faculties, 
592  ;  his  theory  of  sensations,  593  ; 
his  definition  of  ideas,  594 ;  the 
systematic  error  of  his  system,  597  ; 
examined  into,  598,  599 ;  destruc 
tion  of  the  basis  of  his  system,  his 
discovery  that  our  faculties  are  not 
innate  or  even  connate,  600 ;  merits 
of  his  works  and  style,  his  want  of 
a  true  psychological  method,  602. 

Consciousness,  limitation  of,  451. 

Continuity,  law  of,  405. 
34 


Cousin,  Victor,  772. 

Cranioscopy,  755-759 ;  difficulties  be 
setting,  760. 

Cyrenaic  school,  the,  173. 

Cynic  school,  the,  177  ;  effect  created 
by  the  school  in  Athens,  great 
qualities  of  its  disciples,  181 ;  causes 
of  the  want  of  respect  felt  for  them, 
182. 

Dareste,  Camille,  his  researches  into 
the  convolutions  of  the  brain,  766. 

Darwin,  Erasmus :  birth,  studies, 
profession,  his  poem  of  the  Hotimie 
Garden,  his  Zoonomia,  his  theory 
the  same  as  Hartley's,  his  defini 
tion  of  the  word  idea,  609  ;  his 
conception  of  psychology,  610  ;  his 
theory  of  vibrations,  explanation  of 
perception,  615 ;  theory  of  beauty, 
616. 

Definitions,  employment  of,  by  Soc 
rates,  153  ;  importance  of,  in  the 
Socratic  method,  156  ;  in  what  they 
consist,  253. 

Dcmocritus,  the  laughing  philoso 
pher:  birth,  94;  character,  station, 
career,  anecdotes  respecting,  ob 
scurity  of  his  philosophy,  difficulty 
of  assigning  him  a  position,  94; 
differences  between  him  and  other 
schools,  nature  of  his  doctrine  and 
teaching,  his  identification  of  sensa 
tion  and  thought,  95 ;  his  doctrine 
of  reflection,  96  ;  his  hypothesis  to 
explain  perception,  98 ;  his  doctrine 
of  atomism,  99;  superiority  of  his 
system,  100. 

Descartes,  Rene :  birth,  parentage, 
precocity,  studies,  435 ;  travels, 
pursuits,  436  ;  conceives  the  design 
of  a  reformation  in  philosophy, 
publication  of  his  Discourse  on 
Method,  sensation  produced  by  it, 
visit  to  Stockholm,  death,  437; 
character,  438 ;  causes  which  led 
him  to  the  invention  of  his  method, 
439 ;  logical  imperfection  of  his 
Cogito,  ergo  Sum,  440  ;  vital  portion 
of  his  system,  441 ;  psychological 
portion,  442 ;  mathematical  or  de 
ductive  portion,  443  ;  differences 
and  resemblances  between  him  and 
Bacon,  nature  and  tendency  of  his 
method,  445  ;  applications  of  his 
method,  446  ;  weakness  of  his  at 
tempts  to  demonstrate  the  exist 
ence  of  God,  447  ;  physical  specu 
lations,  448 ;  position,  450 ;  his 
criterion  examined,  fallacy  of  his 
system,  451 ;  fallacy  of  his  notion. 


794 


INDEX. 


that  the  mind  is  a  passive  recipient, 
453 ;  his  doctrine  respecting  innate 
ideas,  454. 

Dialectics,  Zeno  of  Elea,  the  inventor 
of,  57 ;  creation  of,  to  what  owing, 
62. 

Diogenes  of  Apollonia :  birth,  tenets, 
7;  theory  of  life,  8;  the  last  ancient 
philosopher  attached  to  the  physi 
cal  method,  9. 

Diogenes  of  Sinope  :  birth,  parent 
age,  flight  to  Athens,  poverty,  life, 
179;  his  ostentation,  182;  charac 
teristics,  death,  184. 

Eclecticism,  769  ;  origin  and  growth 
of,  771 ;  definition  of,  773 ;  crite- 
rium,  necessity  of  a,  774 ;  want  of 
a  criterium  in  the  system,  775 ; 
valuable  as  a  subsidiary  process, 
776. 

Ecstasy,  faculty  of,  place  it  holds  in 
Neo-Platonism,  318. 

Ego,  the  activity  and  passivity  of  the, 
696. 

Eleatics,  the,  37. 

Empedocles,  contrary  opinions  as  to 
the  place  occupied  by  him,  83 ;  in 
terpretation  of  the  disputed  pas 
sage  in  Aristotle  respecting,  84  ; 
Dirth,  station,  espousal  of  the  dem 
ocratic  party,  travels,  character, 
and  anecdotes  respecting  him,  86  ; 
uncertainty  as  to  his  teachers  and 
his  writings,  88  ;  diversity  of  opin 
ion  with  respect  to  his  position  sig 
nificant,  his  relation  to  the  Eleatic 
school,  his  resemblance  to  Zenoph- 
anes,  88  ;  his  attempts  to  prove  the 
existence  of  Reason  and  of  the  Di 
vine  Nature,  90  ;  his  attacks  on  an 
thropomorphism,  90  ;  his  relation 
to  the  Pythagorean  school,  91 ;  ad 
vance  made  by  him  on  Anaxago- 
ras's  doctrine,  92  ;  his  conception 
of  God,  93. 

Epicureans,  the,  274. 

Epicurus :  birth,  origin,  and  educa 
tion,  274;  his  travels,  opening  of 
his  school  in  the  garden,  his  char 
acter,  accusations  brought  against 
him  refuted,  misrepresentations  of 
his  doctrine,  275;  dislike  felt  for 
him  by  the  Stoics,  276 ;  his  doc 
trine  and  system,  277,  278;  his 
ethical  doctrine,  psychology  and 
physics,  279  ;  his  doctrine  review 
ed,'  280. 

Epochs  in  Philosophy  :  first  epoch — 
speculations  on  the  nature  of  the 
universe,  1 ;  second  epoch — specu 


lations  on  the  creation  of  the  uni 
verse  and  the  origin  of  knowledge, 
63  ;  third  epoch — intellectual  crisis, 
101 ;  fourth  epoch — a  new  era 
opened,  122  ;  fifth  epoch — partial 
adoption  of  the  Socratic  method, 
169  ;  sixth  epoch — complete  adop 
tion  of  the  Socratic  method,  186  ; 
seventh  epoch — philosophy  again 
reduced  to  a  system,  241 ;  eighth 
epoch — second  crisis  of  Greek  phi 
losophy,  268  ;  ninth  epoch — phi 
losophy  allies  itself  with  faith,  307  ; 
conclusion  of  ancient  philosophy, 
336.  Transition  period,  343.  First 
epoch,  foundation  of  the  inductive 
method,  398  ;  second  epoch — foun 
dation  of  the  deductive  method, 
435  ;  third  epoch — philosophy  re 
duced  to  a  question  of  psychology, 
495;  fourth  epoch — the  subjective 
nature  of  knowledge  leads  to  ideal 
ism,  548  ;  fifth  epoch — the  argu 
ments  of  idealism  carried  out  into 
skepticism,  570  ;  sixth  epoch — the 
origin  of  knowledge  referred  to 
sensation,  589 ;  seventh  epoch — 
second  crisis,  618  ;  eighth  epoch — 
recurrence  to  the  fundamental 
question  respecting  the  origin  of 
knowledge,  630  ;  ninth  epoch — on 
tology  reasserts  its  claim,  675  ; 
tenth  epoch — psychology  seeking 
its  basis  in  physiology,  740 ;  elev 
enth  epoch — philosophy  finally  re 
linquishing  its  place  in  favor  of 
positive  science,  769. 

Euclid  of  Megara ;  birth,  delight  in 
listening  to  Socrates,  170  ;  his  re 
semblance  to  the  Eleatics,  his  dia 
lectics,  172. 

Existence,  belief  in,  583. 

Experience,  dispute  concerning,  546  ; 
the  foundation  of  our  belief  in 
causality,  6G3. 

Experimentum  crucis,  value  of  the, 
408. 

Fathers,  the  Christian,  343. 

Fichte,  Johann  Gottlieb  :  birth,  pre- 
cociousness,  675  ;  anecdotes  of,  676, 
677  ;  education,  678  ;  life  at  Schulp- 
forte,  679  ;  becomes  a  candidates 
theoloffiw,  residence  in  Switzerland, 
acquaintance  with  Kant's  writ 
ings,  681  ;  writes  an  abridgment  of 
Kant's  Kritik,  6S3 ;  extracts  from 
his  journal,  made  professor  of  phi 
losophy  at  Jena,  684;  residence  at 
Berlin,"  685;  death,  character,  his 
torical  position,  686  ;  his  opinion;?, 


INDEX. 


795 


his  definition  of  fuitli,  and  place 
occupied  by  it  in  his  system,  688  ; 
basis  of  his  system,  690 ;  his  doc 
trine  of  the  Ego  and  Non-Esro, 
691 ;  his  doctrine  of  the  identity 
of  Subject  and  Object,  692;  his 
doctrine  of  the  Will,  693  ;  his 
idealism,  his  distinction  between 
the  Ego  and  Non-Ego,  694;  differ 
ence  between  him  and  Berkeley, 
698  ;  application  of  his  idealism, 
his  doctrine  of  the  aim  of  man's 
existence,  699  ;  his  definition  of 
Duty,  his  doctrine  of  the  condition 
of  existence  and  the  freedom  of  the 
Ego,  700;  his  opinions  respecting 
God,  701 ;  his  philosophy  of  his 
tory,  702. 

Gall,  Francis  Joseph :  birth,  atten 
tion  early  called  to  phrenology, 
lectures  at  Vienna,  749 ;  Gall  and 
Spurzheim  visit  Paris,  quarrel  be 
tween  them,  his  historical  position, 
services  rendered  by  him  to  phys 
iology  and  psychology,  752 ;  his 
influence,  753 ;  his  systematization 
of  the  affective  faculties,  755  ;  his 
anatomy  of  the  nervous  system, 
761 ;  consequence  of  the  abandon 
ment  of  Gall's  method,  763  ;  his 
predecessors,  necessary  rejection 
of  his  system,  764. 

German  Pantheists,  706. 

Greek  ethics,  their  range,  337. 

Greek  inquiry,  its  results,  337. 

Greek  philosophy,  nature  of  the  sec 
ond  crisis  of,  306. 

Greek  speculation,  conclusions  ar 
rived  at  after  reviewing  the  history 
of,  327. 

Hartley,  David  :  birth,  parentage, 
studies,  profession,  603 ;  publica 
tion  of  his  Treatise,  misapprehen 
sion  of  him  by  Dr.  Parr,  death, 
604  ;  character,  his  system,  his 
definition  of  man,  605;  his  opinions 
respecting  mind  and  matter,  606 ; 
his  theory  of  vibrations,  applica 
tion  of  the  doctrine  of  association, 
607  ;  position  occupied  by  him,  608. 

Hegel,  George  Frederick  William, 
birth,  education,  residence  at  Tu 
bingen,  intimacy  with  Schelling, 
715;  residence  at  Jena,  publica 
tion  of  his  dissertation  De  Orbiiis 
and  his  essay  Glauben  und  Wissen, 
intimacy  with  Goethe  and  Schiller, 
lectures  at  Jena,  publishes  his 
Phtinomenologie,  716;  leaves  Jena 


for  Bamberg  and  Niirnberg,  mar 
riage,  residence  at  Heidelberg,  pub 
lishes  his  Encyclop'ddie,  made  pro 
fessor  at  Berlin,  death,  his  method, 
teaching,  717 ;  his  position,  inven 
tion  of  a  new  method,  718;  nature 
of  his  method,  719;  results  of  his 
method,  720  ;  his  doctrine  respect 
ing  contraries,  721 ;  process  of  his 
law  respecting  contraries,  722 ;  his 
notion  of  God,  his  method,  whith 
er  it  led  him,  723 ;  similarity  to 
Hume,  724 ;  estimate  of  his  phi 
losophy  by  his  disciples,  725  ;  his 
greatness,  uselessness  and  perni- 
ciousness  of  his  system,  726 ;  his 
logic,  in  what  it  consists,  first  prop 
osition  in  his  logic,  how  treated  by 
him,  727,  730 ;  his  system,  why- 
overrated,  731 ;  application  of  his 
method,  732;  his  Philosophy  of 
Nature,  733;  his  Philosophy  of  In 
telligence,  his  Lectures  on  History, 
734  ;  Philosophy  of  Religion,  736  ; 
applicability  of  hi's  method  to  all 
subjects,  737  ;  analysis  of  his  History 
of  Philosophy,  738 ;  editions  and 
abridgments  of  his  works,  739. 

Heloise,  her  history,  350-355. 

Heraelitus,  the  crying  philosopher, 
his  origin,  birth,  and  character, 
64;  his  philosophy,  tendency  of 
his  doctrines,  contradiction  be 
tween  him  and  Xenophanes,  65 ; 
a  materialist,  66 ;  his  doctrine  a 
modification  of  the  Ionian  system, 
69;  his  explanation  of  phenomena, 
70;  his  office  negative,  70. 

History,  two  principal  epochs  in,  703. 

Hobbes,  Thomas,  depreciation  of, 
his  errors,  writings,  495:  his  style 
and  matter,  496;  his  position  "in 
the  history  of  philosophy ;  497 ; 
the  precursor  of  the  eighteenth 
century-school  of  psychology,  his 
discovery  respecting  our" sensa 
tions,  498  ;  his  definition  of  imagi 
nation,  500;  definition  of  memory, 
501 ;  association  of  ideas  demon 
strated  by  him,  502 ;  his  psychol 
ogy,  504;  definition  of  understand 
ing,  505. 

Humanity,  five  periods  in  the  life  of, 
704. 

Hume,  David,  birth,  parentage,  visit 
to  France,  570;  publication  of  his 
treatise  on  Human  Nature,  and  his 
Essays,  travels,  publication  of  his 
Political  Discourses  and  his  In 
quiry,  appointed  librarian  to  the 
Faculty  of  Advocates,  publication 


796 


INDEX. 


of  his  History  of  England,  his 
death  and  character,  571 ;  his  skep 
ticism,  his  influence  on  specula 
tion,  his  theory  respecting  matter 
and  mind,  572;  unreasonableness 
of  the  objections  to  him,  573  ;  his 
theory  of  the  source  of  our  reason 
ing,  574 ;  charges  brought  against 
him  refuted,  575;  nature  of  his 
mission,  576;  his  skepticism,  na 
ture  of,  577;  his  theory  of  causa 
tion,  578;  source  of  the  opposition 
to  it,  5JT9,  580 ;  incompetency  of 
his  explanation  of  our  belief  in 
causation,  581. 

Idealism,  unsatisfactory  nature  of, 
569 ;  idealistic  arguments  answer 
ed,  566  ;  errors  and  truths  in  the 
system,  568. 

Idea,  use  of  the  word.  558. 

Ideas,  innate,  doctrine  of,  antici 
pated  by  Parmenides,  50 ;  ideas, 
innate,  453  ;  inquiry  into  the  ori 
gin  of,  by  Locke,  518;  theory  of 
fundamental  ideas,  583. 

Induction  and  Syllogism,  distinction 
between,  258;  nature  of  induction, 
404;  how  to  be  conducted,  405; 
co-ordination  of  its  elements  into 
a  compact  body  of  doctrine,  409 ; 
difference  between  simple-incau 
tious,  and  cautious-methodical, 
423;  a  graduated  and  successive, 
insisted  upon,  426  ;  ordinary  con 
fused  with  scientific,  427  ;  induc 
tive  method  as  distinguished  from 
induction,  inductive  rules,  im 
portance  of,  overrated  by  Bacon, 
428. 

Intellectual  operations  explained, 
xxix. 

Intuitional  reason,  assumption  re 
specting,  xxv. 

Ionian  school,  distinctive  character 
istics  of,  2. 

Jouffruy,  Thomas,  772. 

Kant,  birth,  parentage,  education, 
pursuits,  character,  life  at  Konigs- 
berg,  630;  publication  of  his  Cri 
tique  of  Pure  Reason,  631 ;  death, 
relation  to  Swcdenborg,  632  ;  his 
torical  position,  clearness  of  his 
system,  633;  object  lie  had  in 
view,  634  ;  his  inquiry  into  the  na 
ture  of  experience,  his  criticism  of 
the  operation  of  the  mind,  problem 
he  set  himself  to  solve,  his  concep 
tion  of  a  purely  critical  philosophy, 


635 ;  his  theory  of  knowledge,  636 ; 
his  theory  of  the  purpose  of  criti 
cism,  637  ;  his  answer  to  the 
skeptic  and  dogmatist,  639  ;  dif 
ference  between  him  and  Hume, 
his  theory  of  the  veracity  of  con 
sciousness,  640;  leading  points  of 
his  analysis  of  the  mind,  his  divi 
sion  of  judgments  into  analytic 
and  synthetic,  641 ;  his  theory  that 
mind  does  add  something  to  sense- 
experience,  642  ;  his  psychology, 
object  of  his  Critique,  644;  his  in 
quiry  into  the  objective  reality  of 
space  and  time,  646 ;  his  analysis 
of  the  forms  of  the  understanding, 
647 ;  his  Categories,  his  inquiry 
into  the  pure  forms  of  reason,  648; 
his  theory  of  the  office  of  reason, 
his  theory  of  the  three  pure  forms 
of  reason,  649 ;  consequences  of 
his  psychology,  650 ;  his  theory  of 
an  external  world,  651 ;  his  theory 
of  the  constitution  of  knowledge, 
his  assumption  of  the  impossibility 
of  ontology  as  a  science,  652 ;  re 
sults  of  his  analysis,  653  ;  his 
theory  of  moral  certitude,  of  the 
freedom  of  the  will,  654;  funda 
mental  principles,  examination  of, 
655 ;  vital  point  in  his  system, 
656 ;  his  theory  of  causation  and 
doctrine  of  necessary  truths,  657- 
059  ;  his  distinction  between  a 
pure  and  an  empirical  cognition, 
660 ;  his  views  on  causation  re 
stated  by  Whewell,  661-664;  error 
in  his  theory  of  causation,  665-667; 
latest  development  of  his  doctrine, 
668;  his  doctrine  of  fundamental 
ideas,  669  ;  his  notion  of  progres 
sive  intuition,  670-673 ;  result  of 
his  system,  674. 

Leibnitz  :  his  arguments  against 
Locke,  reputation  as  a  philosopher 
and  mathematician,  541 ;  influence 
of  the  ancients  over  him,  542 ;  his 
arguments  respecting  universality 
and  necessity,  his  doctrine  of  ne 
cessary  truths,  543 ;  real  force  of 
his  theory,  545. 

Locke,  John  :  birth,  parentage,  edu 
cation,  life  at  Oxford,  contempt  for 
university  studies,  506;  his  pro 
ficiency  in  medicine,  turns  his  at 
tention  to  politics,  travels,  plans 
his  Easay,  507  ;  returns  to  Oxford, 
is  deprived  of  his  studentship, 
goes  to  the  Hague,  publication  of 
his  letter  on  Toleration,  returns  to 


INDEX. 


England,  publication  of  his  Essay, 
its  success,  opposition  excited,  ac 
quaintance  with  Newton,  503 ; 
death,  spirit  of  his  writings,  charges 
brought  against  him,  509 ;  proof 
that  he  did  not  borrow  from 
Hobbes,  510,  511  ;  his  good  quali 
ties  and  originality,  512;  his  esti 
mate  of  the  value  of  hypothesis, 
his  readiness  to  change  his  opin 
ions,  513 ;  characteristics  of  his 
Essay,  514;  his  method,  515;  the 
founder  of  modern  psychology, 
516;  object  he  had  in  view,  517; 
plan  laid  down  by  him  in  the  con 
duct  of  his  inquiry,  518 ;  his  posi 
tivism,  519  ;  his  theory  of  the  origin 
of  our  ideas,  521 ;  and  of  the  origin 
of  our  knowledge,  523;  his  defini 
tion  of  reflection  and  sensation, 
525 ;  elements  of  idealism  and 
skepticism  in  his  system,  527  ;  his 
theory  of  the  primary  and  second 
ary  qualities  of  bodies,  528 ;  his 
anticipation,  of  the  doctrine  of  cau 
sation,  529  ;  his  definition  of  knowl 
edge,  his  doctrine  respecting  sim 
ple  and  complex  ideas,  530 ;  his 
denunciation  of  skepticism,  532 : 
object  of  his  essay,  533  ;  his  critics,' 
533-539  ;  careful  study  of  him  rec 
ommended,  540. 

Logic,  definition  of,  252 ;  object  of 
Aristotle's  logic,  256  ;  bad  logic  de 
fined,  585 . 

Macaulay,  his  argument  against  the 
originality  and  usefulness  of  Ba 
con's  method  refuted,  420-434. 

Materialism,  principle  of,  stated,  493. 

Mathematicians,  the,  10;  collision  be 
tween  the  mathematical  and  physi 
cal  systems,  62. 

Megaric  school,  the,  169. 

Metaphysics,  science  of,  denied  by 
the  Sophists,  121 ;  three  questions 
propounded  by  metaphysics,  an 
swered  by  the  Alexandrian  school, 
328 ;  metaphysical  and  scientific 
methods,  germinal  difference  be 
tween,  xxii ;  irrationality  of  spec 
ulation  or  metaphysics,  xxxi. 

Method,  estimate  of,  by  Socrates, 
158;  peculiarities  of  a  philosophi 
cal  method,  Socratic  method,  its 
vagueness,  169;  Aristotle's  method, 
246  ;  spirit  of  Bacon's  method,  408  ; 
method  of  verification,  410 ;  useful 
ness  of  Bacon's  method,  427  ;  radi 
cal  defect  of  Bacon's  method,  429  ; 
Bacon's  method  only  indirectly  use 


ful,  432;  Bacon's  method  latent  in 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  no  evidence 
against  his  originality,  433  ;  full  es 
tablishment  of  the  deductive  meth 
od,  444  ;  Descartes'  method,  good 
ness  of,  examined,  449 ;  Spinoza's 
method,  novelty  of,  472;  Locke's 
method,  515 ;  Hegel's  method,  717  ; 
the  history  of  the  rise  of  the  psy 
chological  method,  740 ;  the  posi 
tive  method,  776;  value  of  the 
positive  method,  784;  illustrations 
of  the  superiority  of  the  positive 
method,  785;  the  birth  of  the  new 
method,  xiii. 

Mill,  John,  his  strictures  on  the  dog 
ma  cessante  causa  cessat  et  effectus, 
587. 

Mysticism,  infusion  of,  into  philoso 
phy,  331. 

Neo-Platonism,  antagonism  between 
it  and  Christianity,  causes  of  its 
failure,  314;  Neo-Platonic  theory 
of  God,  322 ;  Neo-Platonic  doctrine 
of  emanation,  Neo-Platonic  theory 
of  the  origin  of  the  world,  328  ; 
their  doctrine  respecting  God,  329. 

Nominalism,  dispute  concerning,  346. 

Object,  the,  and  sensation,  want  of 
correspondence  between,  303. 

Ontological  speculations,  basis  of  all 
modern,  455. 

Parmenides,  his  birth,  48  ;  wealth  and 
devotion  to  study,  his  politics,  char 
acteristics  of  his  philosophy,  49  ; 
his  doctrine  respecting  the  duality 
of  thought,  50 ;  his  antithesis  to 
d6£a  always  THCTU,  53;  central  point 
in  his  system,  his  notion  on  the 
science  of  Being,  53  ;  his  doctrine 
of  the  identity  of  thought  and  ex 
istence,  54;  his  physical  specula 
tions,  ideal  element  introduced  in 
to  his  speculations,  skeptical  tend 
ency  of  his  doctrines,  55. 

Perception  and  reasoning,  difference 
between,  xxv  ;  perception  and  sen 
sation,  difference  between,  xxvi; 
nature  of  perception  defined,  301 ; 
process  of,  611. 

Philo:  birth,  genius,  education,  his 
teachers,  Greek  and  Oriental  ele 
ments  of  his  mind,  310  ;  agreement 
and  difference  between  him  and 
Plato,  311 ;  his  theology,  312. 

Philosophy,  distinction  between  it 
and  science,  present  decadence  of, 
circular  movement  of,  xi ;  spectacle 


798 


INDEX. 


presented  by  the  history  of,  xii ; 
definition  of,  ancient  philosophy  es 
sentially  metaphysical,  xiii ;  supe 
riority  of  science  to,  xiv  ;  charac 
teristics  of,  xv ;  difference  between 
and  science  illustrated,  xvi ;  re 
garded  as  a  system  of  credit,  xxii ; 
contrast  between  philosophy  and 
science,  xxii ;  proved  to  be  impos 
sible,  xxx  ;  the  initiator  of  science, 
xxxi ;  purpose  of  the  author  in 
writing  the  history  of,  xxxi ;  mor 
al  philosophy  created  by  Socrates, 
266;  conclusion  of  ancient  philoso 
phy,  336  ;  influence  of,  337  ;  Chris 
tian  philosophy  a  misnomer,  phi 
losophy,  in  what  it  consists,  338 ; 
modern  philosophy,  commence 
ment  of,  mediaeval  philosophy,  343 ; 
influence  of  Aristotle  over  mediae 
val  philosophy,  345;  emancipation 
of  philosophy,  370;  fundamental 
question  of  modern,  455  ;  first  cri 
sis  in  modern  philosophy,  493;  re 
action  against  the  eighteenth  cen 
tury  philosophy,  769-771 ;  office  of 
positive  philosophy,  779 ;  reduc 
tion  of  positive  philosophy  into  five 
fundamental  sciences,  787 ;  two 
characteristics  of  modern  philoso 
phy,  present  condition  of,  impos 
sibility  of  a,  788. 

Phenomena,  order  of  their  depend 
ence,  786. 

Phrenology,  rise  of,  748 ;  changes 
made  in  the  localization  of  the  or 
gans,  750  ;  two  distinct  aspects  of, 
755 ;  difficulties  of,  759  ;  proper  ob 
ject  of,  760;  assumptions  of,  761; 
initial  question  affecting,  765;  im 
portant  point  it  has  to  determine, 
766  ;  chaotic  aspect  of,  768. 

Physics,  organic  and  inorganic,  treat 
ed  by  the  positive  method,  786. 

Physicists,  the,  1. 

Plato  :  interest  felt  in  him,  his  char 
acter,  nature  of  his  metaphysics, 
morals,  and  politics,  186 ;  parent 
age,  birth,  and  education,  188;  his 
skepticism,  und  correction  of,  by 
Socrates,  his  travels,  189  ;  his  lec 
tures,  191 ;  their  purely  argument 
ative  character,  visit  to"  Sicily,  192; 
sold  as  a  slave,  visit  to  Syracuse, 
death,  disposition,  193;  character 
of  his  writings,  195;  his  Dialogues 
and  Epistles,  various  of  them  spu 
rious,  165,  166;  his  opinions  illus 
trated  in  his  Dialogues,  197  ;  design 
of  his  Dialogues,  his  dialectics,  199  ; 
attempts  to  classify  his  Dialogues, 


chronology  of,  201 ;  necessity  for  a 
positive  arrangement  of  his  works, 
variations  in  his  opinions,  2«'>0,  204; 
new  classification  of  his  works  pro 
posed,  purpose  of  his  Dialogues, 
206  ;  his  method,  nature  of  his  phi 
losophy,  207  ;  nature  of  his  method, 
209  ;  his  conception  of  philosophy 
as  dialectics,  his  great  dogma,  210; 
his  theory  of  general  terms,  212; 
his  doctrine  of  ideas,  214-216  ;  his 
psychology  illustrated,  216-220 ;  his 
doctrine  of  innate  ideas,  22]  ;  his 
doctrine  of  recollection,  222;  divi 
sion  of  his  philosophy  into  two 
branches,  223  ;  passage  from  the 
Republic  illustrative  of  his  method, 
224 ;  his  doctrine  of  rational  and 
sensitive  souls,  his  system  a  resume 
of  the  conflicting  tendencies  of  his 
age,  226  ;  summary  of  his  dialectics, 
227 ;  his  theology  and  cosmology, 
228  ;  his  analogical  reasoning,  229  ; 
his  doctrine  of  evil,  231 ;  doctrine 
of  metempsychosis  as  applied  by 
him,  232;  his  view  of  the  beautiful 
and  the  good,  233  ;  his  ethics,  236 ; 
contradictions  in  his  ethical  opin 
ions,  his  JKepublic,  236-240. 

Platonic  philosophy,  central  error  of, 
154. 

Platonism,  its  union  with  Oriental 
mysticism,  312. 

Plotinus,  314;  his  agreement  with 
Plato,  316  ;  his  resemblance  to  Ger 
man  metaphysicians,  324  ;  spirit  of, 
revived  by  Schelling,  710. 

Position  of  the  Socratic  method  in 
the  history  of  speculation,  266. 

Process,  the  exclusive,  necessity  of, 
insisted  on,  406. 

Proclus:  birth,  visit  to  Alexandria 
and  Athens,  his  theological  tend 
ency,  332  ;  his  estimate  of  faith,  his 
method,  333 ;  his  assumption  re 
specting  mathematics,  334  ;  his  as- 
sertion^respecting  the  mind,  335; 
the  last  of  the  ancient  philosophers, 
336. 

Prophetism,  368. 

Protagoras,  the  first  avowed  Sophist, 
his  studies,  resemblance  between 
him  and  Ileraclitus,  his  doctrine  of 
sensation,  11G;  a  teacher  of  moral 
ity,  119. 

Psychology,  lesson  taught  by,  xxix ; 
its  assumption  of  the  place  of  on 
tology,  4U3 ;  reason  of  the  im 
portance  it  has  assumed,  494; 
psychological  method,  history  of 
the,  740 ;  necessity  of  its  estab- 


INDEX. 


lishment  on  a  physiological  basis, 
763. 

Pyrrho,  founder  of  the  skeptical  phi 
losophy,  contrast  between  him  and 
Socrates,  268;  his  doctrine,  irre- 
coverability  of,  269. 

Pythagoras :  birth.  15;  one  of  the 
great  founders  of  mathematics,  fa 
bles  current  about  him,  1C  ;  proba 
bility  of  his  having  visited  Egypt, 
unlikelihood  of  his  having1  been  in 
structed,  by  Egyptian  priests,  17 ; 
invention  of  the  word  philosopher 
by  him,  13  ;  its  interpretation,  his 
secret  society,  19:  political  career 

20  ;  residence  at  Croton,  difference 
between  him  and  his  predecessors, 

21  ;  risings  against  him,  death,  22; 
musical  scale  invented  by  him,  his 
philosophy,  23  ;  his  doctrines  a  con 
tinuation  of  Anaximander's,  uncer 
tainty  as  to  the  genuineness  of  the 
opinions  ascribed  to  him,  no  peculiar 
doctrines  attributed  to  him  by  Plato 
and  Aristotle,  his  oral  teaching,  24  ; 
his  theory  of  numbers,  26;  his  doc 
trines  contained  in  a  few  mystical 
sentences,  30  ;  his  opinions  on  sub 
sidiary  points,  his  doctrine   of  the 
transmigration  of  souls,  31 ;  his  doc 
trines  in  relation  to  the  preceding 
philosophy,  32;  the  representative 
of  the  second  branch  of  Ionian  phi 
losophy,  33. 

Pythagoreans,  celebrated,  Pythago 
rean  school,  its  method  and  ten 
dency,  why  called  the  mathemati 
cal,  '25  ;  Pythagorean  system,  a 
verbal  quibble  at  the  foundation  of, 
27  ;  Pythagorean  formula,  mistake 
as  to  its  meaning  by  Ritter  and 
others,  28;  Pythagorean  doctrine, 
33  ;  translations  from  Aristotle's 
Metaphysics  respecting,  34-36. 

Realism  and  Nominalism,  origin  of  the 
dispute  between,  211. 

Reasoning,  how  conducted  in  Bacon's 
time,  425. 

Reformers,  sixteenth  century,  spirit 
common  to  the,  377. 

Reid,  Thomas  :  birth,  education,  made 
Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy  at 
Aberdeen,  publication  of  his  In 
quiry  into  the  Human  Mind  and  of 
his  Essays  on  the  Intellectual  Powers, 
death,  his  philosophy,  61S  ;  his  mis- 
statement  of  Locke,  619  ;  his  refu 
tation  of  the  Ideal  theory,  620;  his 
attack  on  skepticism,  621 ;  his  the 
ory  of  perception  and  instinct,  623  ; 
difference  between  the  Ideal  hy 


pothesis  and  Reid's  theory,  the 
great  point  in  his  theory,  625;  his 
theory  of  ideas  of  sensation,  627 ; 
difference  between  Reid  and  Berke 
ley,  his  mistake  respecting  the  ori 
gin  of  knowledge,  628. 

Reminiscence,  doctrine  of,  implied  in 
a  passage  from  the  Pkcedo,  220. 

Republic,  the,  of  Plato,  difficulty  of 
determining  its  date,  201. 

Revolution,  the  French,  and  material 
ism,  fancied  association  between, 
770. 

Rome  and  the  Eastern  schools  of  phi- 
losophv,  xxxii ;  Roman  philosophy, 
308. 

Sensation,  growth  of,  525  :  impossi 
bility  of  displacing  by  an  idea,  596  ; 
distinction  between  sensation  and 
ideation,  597  ;  sensation  independ 
ent  of  thought,  599  ;  dependent  on 
the  sensational  centre,  613 ;  visual 
sensation,  how  produced,  614. 

Sensation  school,  the,  589  ;  sensation 
al  centres,  598. 

Skeptics,  mistakes  made  by  the  an 
cient,  nature  of  their  'influence, 
271 ;  main  position  of  skepticism, 
621 ;  skepticism  not  refuted  by 
Reid's  theory,  622. 

Schelling  :  birth,  studies  at  Tubingen, 
friendship  with  Hegal,  residence  at 
Jena  and  Berlin,  death,  705  ;  his 
doctrines,  his  pantheistic  tendency, 
706 ;  his  improvement  on  Fichte's 
doctrine,  707 ;  difference  between 
him  and  Fichte,  the  E<ro  in  Schel- 
ling's  system,  709  ;  function  of  rea 
son  in  his  system,  710 ;  three  divi 
sions  in  his  system,  his  speculations 
on  Nature,  711 ;  luminousness  of 
some  of  his  ideas,  712  ;  his  opinion 
of  science,  results  of  his  specula 
tions,  713 ;  similarity  and  difference 
between  him  and  Spinoza,  differ 
ence  between  their  methods,  714. 

Science,  linear  progress  of,  xi  ;  sci 
ences,  progressive  development  of, 
777  ;  present  condition  of,  784. 

Scientific  method,  its  superiority, 
xxii. 

Scholasticism,  843  ;  manifestations  of 
the  philosophical  element  in,  344. 

Schoolmen,  the  error  committed  by, 
346. 

Scotch  philosophy,  failure  of,  629. 

Socrates  :  his  opinions  respecting 
Anaxagoras,  78 ;  his  life,  antagon 
ism  between  him  and  the  Sophists, 
his  mission,  122  ;  treatment  by  the 


800 


INDEX. 


Sophists,  effect  produced  by  him, 
his  personal  appearance,  123 ;  his 
qualities,  125 ;  his  birth,  parents, 
education,  and  early  studies,  127  ; 
his  wife,  his  military  services,  128  ; 
anecdotes  respecting  him,  129;  his 
public  career,  130  ;  conduct  as  Epis- 
tates,  132;  mistaken  for  a  Sophist, 
133;  his  mode  of  disputation,  134; 
his  tastes  and  habits,  135  ;  his  daily 
occupation,  136 ;  his  enemies,  137  ; 
his  condemnation,  apology  for  the 
Athenians,  138  ;  his  alleged  impiety, 
139  ;  his  religious  opinions,  140;  his 
trial,  141  ;  speech  made  by  him, 
142  ;  his  behavior  in  the  prospect  of 
death,  143 ;  impression  produced 
by  it  on  Phaedo,  144;  the  closing 
scene,  145  ;  his  character,  147  ;  his 
philosophy,  new  method  invented 
by  him,  148;  his  use  of  the  terms 
genus  and  species,  149  ;  assertion  re 
specting  his  anticipation  of  Bacon's 
method,  differences  and  resem 
blances  between  him  and  Bacon, 
151 ;  drift  of  his  questioning,  153  ; 
the  founder  of  a  new  epoch,  155; 
his  opinion  of  physical  speculation, 
156  ;  philosophic  basis  given  by  him 
to  the  doctrine  of  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  160;  his  arguments  in  fa 
vor  of  a  beneficent  Providence,  161- 
165  ;  conjectures  respecting  his  de 
mon,  166  ;  his  statement  respecting 
the  Divine  Voice,  167  ;  Socrates'  phi 
losophical  career  justified,  199 ;  sum 
mary  of  the  Socratic  movement, 
266 ;  benefit  conferred  by  the  So 
cratic  epoch,  267. 

Sophos,  meaning  of  the  word,  19. 

Sophists,  the,  much  calumniated,  102; 
cause  of  the  dislike  felt  for  them  by 
Plato,  103  ;  meaning  of  the  word, 
104  ;  vagueness  of  the  term,  105  ; 
various  assertions  respecting  them 
proved  to  be  false,  106  ;  their  teach 
ing,  107;  art  taught  by  them,  not 
reprehensible,  108  ;  art  of  disputa 
tion  taught  by  them,  109  ;  their  art 
compared  with  forensic  oratory, 
111;  their  popularity,  112;  estima 
tion  of  their  art  by  the  Greeks,  113  ; 
doctrines  taught  by  them  ethical, 
examination  of  their  doctrines,  114 ; 
difference  between  them  and  the 
Skeptics,  118  ;  their  opinion  of  ora 
tory,  the  natural  production  of  the 
opinions  of  the  epoch,  120. 

Soufism,  369. 

Speculation,  tendency  of  early  philo 
sophical,  3. 


Spinoza:  his  childhood,  456;  his  pa 
rents,  his  early  passion  for  study, 
his  doubts,  457;  summoned  before 
the  Eabbins,  withdraws  from  the 
synagogue,  458  ;  his  attempted  as 
sassination,  his  excommunication, 
459  ;  his  subsequent  career,  his  love 
for  his  master's  daughter,  460  ;  his 
disappointment,  his  Latin  studies, 
461  ;  leaves  Amsterdam  for  Ley- 
den,  writes  his  abridgment  of  the 
Meditations  of  Descartes,  sensation 
produced  by  it,  his  residence  at  the 
Hague,  462 ;  declines  the  chair  of 
philosophy  at  Heidelberg,  beauty 
of  his  course  of  life,  463  ;  his  pov 
erty,  464 ;  publication  of  his  Tracta- 
tus  Theologico-Politicus,  465  ;  state 
of  things  in  Holland  on  its  appear 
ance,  466  ;  his  character,  amuse 
ments,  death,  468  ;  his  doctrine,  a 
logical  development  of  the  system 
of  Descartes,  469  ;  his  doctrine  of 
Substance,  470  ;  his  agreement  with 
Descartes,  471 ;  novelty  of  his  meth 
od,  his  Definitions,  472  ;  his  Axioms, 
474  ;  his  notions  on  cause  and 
effect,  475  :  his  Propositions  and 
Corollaries,  476-478  ;  his  proof  of 
the  existence  of  Substance,  his  the 
ology,  4SO ;  his  exposition  of  his 
doctrine  completed,  causes  why  it  is 
branded  as  atheistical,  481 ;  his  doc 
trine  of  Final  Causes,  482;  his  de 
monstration  of  the  anthropomor 
phic  tendency  of  judging  infinite  by 
rinitc  wisdom,  484  ;  impression  left 
on  the  mind  by  his  theological  sys 
tem,  485 ;  initial  error  of  his  sys 
tem,  486 ;  whence  it  arises,  487  ; 
logical  perfection  of  his  system,  his 
criticism  of  Bacon,  490 ;  justifica 
tion  of  his  employment  of  the  geo 
metrical  method,  491. 

Stoics,  the,  281  ;  Stoical  doctrine, 
analogy  between  the  Stoics  and  the 
Scotch"  philosophers,  their  ethical 
'  doctrine,  289  ;  tendency  of  their 
ethical  formula,  291  ;  mistakes  made 
by  them,  merits  and  demerits  of 
Stoicism,  202. 

Systems,  errors  at  the  root  of  philo 
sophical,  14. 

Table-turning,  xvi. 

Thales,  father  of  Greek  speculation, 
birth,  origin  of  his  activity  in  poli 
tics,  1  ;  a  proficient  in  mathemati 
cal  knowledge,  2  ;  his  attempt  to 
discover  the  beginning  of  things, 
8;  his  philosophy  in  harmony  with 


INDEX. 


801 


ancient  opinions,  wrongly  accused 
of  atheism,  4;  his  speculations,  in 
ductive  in  their  nature,  14. 

Timseus  and  Archytas,  works  attrib 
uted  to  them,  spurious,  24. 

TimcKus,  Aristotle's  comment  on  the, 
200. 

Truths,  necessary  and  contingent, 
671 ;  nature  of  contingent  truths, 
673. 

Universals,  importance  of  the  dispute 
concerning,  356. 

Van  Heusde's  arrangement  of  Plato's 
works,  205. 

Verification  of  particulars,  the  distin 
guishing  characteristic  of  the  sci 
entific  method,  xxx. 

Verification,  graduated,  systematiza- 
tion  of,  408. 

Villers,  Charles,  his  letter  to  Cuvier, 
750. 

Xenophanes :  birth,  a  cultivator  of 
elegiac  and  gnomic  poetry,  banish 
ment,  and  wanderings  as  a  rhapso- 
dist,  poverty  and  fanaticism,  87 ; 
a  monotheist,  38 ;  his  doctrine  re 
specting  Truth,  disagreement  be 
tween  his  doctrines  and  those  of 
Pythagoras,  few  of  his  rhapsodies 
extant,  39 ;  conclusions  arrived  at 
by  him,  41 ;  the  head  of  the  Mono- 


theists  and  Skeptics,  his  philoso 
phy,  attempted  solution  of  the  pro- 
ble"m  of  existence,  42 ;  explanation 
of  his  notion  respecting  God,  con 
tradiction  between  his  opinions,  43  ; 
his  pantheism,  his  monotheism  dif 
ferent  from  anthropomorphism,  a 
monotheist  only  in  contradiction  to 
his  polytheistical  contemporaries, 
44 ;  nature  of  his  skepticism,  46 ; 
his  conceptions  of  the  Deity,  47; 
his  influence  on  the  progress  of 
speculation,  48. 

Zeno,  alias  Palamedes  of  Elea,  55 ; 
character,  political  activity,  cap 
tured  by  Nearchus,  56 :  death,  his 
philosophy,  the  inventor  of  dialec 
tics,  57  ;  the  first  prose  writer,  58 ; 
difference  between  him  and  Parme- 
nides,  his  doctrine  of  one  existence 
and  many  appearances,  his  argu 
ments  respecting  motion,  59;  his 
Achilles  puzzle,  60 ;  its  refutation, 
61 ;  Zeno,  the  terminator  of  the 
second  great  line  of  independent 
inquiry,  62. 

Zeno,  the  Stoic:  birth,  origin,  pur 
suits,  studies,  career,  281 ;  founds 
a  school,  his  character,  personal  ap 
pearance,  death,  282;  his  philoso 
phy,  psychology,  284;  his  theory 
of  sensation,  286. 


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